


Never Tear Us Apart

by andcontemplation



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Big Bang Challenge, Canonical Character Death, Cover Art, Existential Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Invisibility, Lovecraftian Horror, The Upside Down, Time Travel, Unhappy Ending, angsty smut, cross dimensional boinking, dealing with isolation, flirting with folie aux deux, joyce and hopper have a past and it's complicated y'all, loss of reality, somewhat canon compliant, star crossed lovers, tw: PTSD, twin flames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andcontemplation/pseuds/andcontemplation
Summary: After the Battle at Starcourt, Hopper is presumed dead, yet Joyce can’t shake the unsettling feeling that he’s still alive. Her suspicion is confirmed when he makes contact to tell her that he’s trapped in the upside down, taking shelter inside her house. As they navigate the strange divide keeping them apart, Joyce and Hopper grow closer than ever, working on a secret mission to bring him home. Only, it doesn’t go exactly as planned…Written for the Jopper Big Bang - 2019! Takes place during the three months missing at the end of ST3 and touches on events in my ongoing series Time in a Bottle.**Smutty chapters are marked with asterisks for those that would rather skip to it or avoid it altogether.** Please read AN for additional warnings! **
Relationships: Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 44
Kudos: 56
Collections: Jopper Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **AN:** This is your fair warning! There is no standard happy-ending to this story and it can get kind of dark and weird sometimes. I have tried to tag as best I could for triggers, but if you feel I have missed something, please send me a dm or an ask [on my tumblr here.](https://andcontemplation.tumblr.com/)
> 
> There are a few inspirations for this story: the music -- there's a whole playlist of songs that inspired this story. [Find it here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ig6GugM3gFqDOMIMPiAuW) Movies -- A Ghost Story; Ghost (ILY Patrick Swayze); Donnie Darko; the Shape of Water, among others (let's see if you find the references!) And the book, the Time Traveller's Wife. 
> 
> Yes, there is time travel and the plot gets a bit twisted so if you have any questions, please ask me about it as I may have glossed over something!
> 
> I may have plans to continue it, but I will be diving back into my other (neglected) series before I continue this one!
> 
> Thank you to [Palmviolet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmviolet/pseuds/palmviolet) for putting this Big Bang together 💕
> 
> And thank _you_ for reading! I hope you enjoy (even with all the angst lol)  
> 
> 
>   
>  [](https://i.imgur.com/6GEktOU.jpg%22)   
> 
> 
> Scene art by the lovely [@snowchicago99](https://snowchicago99.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
> [Listen to the Spotify Playlist for this fic. ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ig6GugM3gFqDOMIMPiAuW)
> 
>   
> 

_Time present and time past_

_Are both perhaps present in time future_

_And time future contained in time past._

_If all time is eternally present_

_All time is unredeemable._

_What might have been is an abstraction_

_Remaining a perpetual possibility_

_Only in a world of speculation._

_What might have been and what has been_

_Point to one end, which is always present._

_Footfalls echo in the memory_

_Down the passage which we did not take_

_Towards the door we never opened_

_Into the rose-garden. My words echo_

_Thus, in your mind._

_— T.S. Eliot  
_

# NEVER TEAR US APART

_“On three…”_

She holds her breath as he counts.

_“One… Two…”_

They’re interrupted before he can finish and then it’s all a blur. 

Hopper takes a hit and goes down. Joyce tries to fight back, but she’s quickly tossed aside, her head bouncing like a ragdoll off the control panel before she hits the floor. 

Her head is throbbing when she comes to, only moments later. She pulls herself up in a daze to see Hopper fighting the enemy down on the platform and for a moment, it looks like Hop’s winning. Until he’s not. 

He’s flipped a second later, pinned down by his opponent's boot, his head now only inches away from being ripped to shreds by the high speed turbines. 

Joyce can feel the panic starting to bubble up inside her. She’s useless in a fight like this, but she can’t just stand there and do nothing. She grabs her uniform sash and fastens it to one key, stretching her whole body in an effort to reach the other. It feels like the distance between them is getting wider and wider, slipping away. She won’t make it…

Hopper gets the upper hand and slams the Russian into the machine and it arcs, instantly creating a wall of electricity between him and her. 

_He’s trapped._

Joyce finally gets a grip on the key, and she looks to Hopper for what will be the last time. His bright blue eyes are brimming with tears as he now understands his fate. The serene look he gives her in that split second tells her everything she needs to know, and it cuts through her like a knife — she should have went on that damn date. 

Hopper nods then and Joyce nods too. His smile is serene, despite his broken face and bloodied teeth. 

She knows it’s time. 

_Turn the keys._

And the world goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t know how it happened or even how long it took to get here. The only thing he knew was that he wasn’t in Hawkins anymore, at least not his version of it. 

He didn’t have to open his eyes to see. It just felt… different. It’s what he imagines hell would feel like: death permeating, rot shrouding the land. Nuclear decay eating away what used to be his hometown. 

Hopper opened his eyes, confirming his fear. 

The last thing he remembered, he was in the control room underneath the Mall, silently saying goodbye to Joyce and trying not to let on how scared he actually was, before she turned the keys and everything went black. His memory was foggy of everything after Joyce until now. Logic told him only minutes had passed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling — it felt like days. 

Now, he stared up at strangely familiar dark and stormy skies that stretched as far as the eye could see. 

There was no sun here, no stars, no moon. Just a bleak nothing everywhere he turned. A sweet but putrid stench invaded his nostrils as he got his bearings. The smell burned, acrid like sulfur, and it stung the back of his throat when he inhaled. Spores floated in the air like ash or snowflakes across the barren wasteland, filling his lungs. He coughed, gagging, choking on the thick radioactive air, and he wondered how many more times he could be exposed to this before he became walking cancer.

Blood rushed to his head as he came to, pounding away at his temples and behind his eyes as his concussion reared its ugly head. Groaning, he rolled over, shaking off the serpentine vines that had started to consume him. They slowly wrapped around his arms and legs now like a constrictor preparing its next meal, and he grabbed for them before they had him pinned. 

As soon as Hopper ripped off the last of them, he sat up, pitching forward on his hands and knees, coughing and gagging again. This time it brought up bile until his eyes watered, and he tasted pennies. That was when he noticed blood as it dripped off the end of his nose and down his cheek into his mouth. Fresh, from the split on his forehead where the Arnie-Wannabe’s fist connected with his face. He spit bright red and wiped away all the blood, sweat, and tears, pushing himself to his feet to get his bearings. 

First, he took careful inventory of himself: two legs, two arms, all the important parts still attached. No gaping wounds he could feel or see. Nothing was broken, and all his extremities still worked as they should, even though he could feel them already stiffening up. 

Hopper looked around. He was pretty sure he was in the old, empty field where the Mall had been built last summer. Though in this dimension, Starcourt no longer stood. All he could see surrounding him was a rotting corn crop, covered in vines. Behind him stood a massive movie screen across the field from a rundown shack, it's bright colors now muted in this permanent twilight. He recognized his location instantly: The Starlite Drive-in, demolished last year to make way for Starcourt. 

There was good news and bad news that came with this information. 

The bad news was any chance of getting out of here the same way he came in was slim to none. The gate was in the tunnels under the Mall that seemingly no longer existed in its current state. 

The good news: he wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t transported to some obscure place, millions of miles from home, god only knows where. 

Relief flooded him at the realization. The Starlite was only 10 miles from the outskirts of town, and he knew that well enough from all the Friday nights the gang spent there in senior year of high school. He could say with certainty that he could be back in town within a few hours if he started walking now. 

And if he could get to his cabin or the police station, he might be able to find a way to make contact with Joyce or Eleven, or hell, even Murray. Maybe the radios would work, or the morse code he had taught El would come in handy again. Maybe his little experiment worked too if the cabin was still in one piece, here in hell — there was a survival kit he stashed away under the floorboards of his bedroom for this exact scenario. 

It was a slim chance the cabin was left intact since he already knew this strange world reflected the real one. And he knew it would take hours to walk all that way beaten and bloody, but he reminded himself it was nothing he couldn’t handle after his tours in ‘Nam, not to mention all the adventure he had found himself in over the last year and a half. 

All he could do was try.

When the world finally stopped spinning under his feet, and his head stopped pounding, Hopper patted himself down, looking for his pack of smokes. He lit the second to last one and tried his best to ignore the cold sweat that developed at the thought of running out of cigarettes right now. With a deep breath, he started walking towards the highway that headed into town. 

  


* * * 

A few hundred feet from his starting point, and through a bleary haze, a dark figure caught Hopper’s attention. He straightened up, trying to get an ID on whatever it was coming into view with each cautious step he took. 

“Hey,” Hopper said, instantly on alert to the shadow taking shape in the darkness. As he approached, he recognized it as a scientist, likely Russian, based on the red soviet looking hazmat suit. 

“Hey!” Hopper called out again, more confidently this time, but there was no response. Whoever it was, he was pretty sure they were deader than dead. 

He kicked the body, but the leg barely moved when Hopper’s steel toe boot connected. Rigor mortis had already set in, which meant they had died within the last two days at most, a few hours at the least. If anything, it gave him a timeline he could work with. Whenever he jumped dimensions, this poor commie bastard likely came along for the ride. 

He unclipped the mask on the suit, the pressure releasing with a hiss, and he opened the suit to see a broken face, bruised beyond all recognition. The suit seemed to be in good condition, with no rips or tears in the thick fabric lining. Hopper sized up the dead man, a bit smaller than himself, but the suit looked like it would still fit, barely. It wouldn’t keep him safe forever, but it was better than nothing. 

He pulled the suit off the dead Russian, and ditched the wool uniform from the other dead Russian and tried not to think about it. When he finished strapping up the suit, he got familiar with the lights within the mask and the flashlight on the shoulder, clicking them on and off. He adjusted the SCBA, then wiped the visor clear of the other man’s blood, and put it on, locking the mask in place. 

The hiss of pressurization muffled the sounds coming from behind him at first. 

Heavy panting, someone running. Hopper spun around in time to see someone running beyond the fence. He wasn’t alone.

He didn’t have time to follow before the ground trembled beneath his feet, throwing him off balance. 

Looking back to where the figure came from, an immense shadow moved slowly through the fog and clouds. Lightening revealed it’s true form off in the distance, partially hidden from view but still a great and looming threat. 

It was that _thing_ — the shadow monster, _the mind flayer,_ whatever the kids called it. It was the monster that tried to kill his daughter and Joyce’s son, and it was hurt.

_Good,_ he thought. _Fuck you and the four horses you rode in on, you fucking bastard._

Tentacles and legs as tall as skyscrapers glowed like embers between clouds and whipped around an ungodly alien body thousands of feet in the air. It moved in slow motion, silent, captivating and horrifying at the same time. Lightning cracked and sizzled overhead, charging the air, and bringing with it deep dread. Hopper couldn’t even tell which direction the monster was headed in, and he wasn't about to stick around to find out. 

* * * 

He walked. 

And walked.

He was getting tired now, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet. 

_Miles to go before I sleep._

The last time he slept — if you could call restless fits of tossing and turning, sleeping — was on Murray’s couch over 24 hours ago. There was no way he could make it to the cabin, or anywhere in town at this rate. He needed to get some shut-eye and soon. 

Where was the nearest safe place he could crash? The answer was obvious, since he’d been there before in this hellscape and knew what to expect. Joyce’s house was about as far south of town as you could get without actually leaving town limits. He could walk there in six hours, at this pace, maybe less. 

So he aimed East, and he walked. 

And walked. 

He thought about Joyce and all the things he wanted to say to her in that split second before he ended up here. 

He thought about El. How much of an asshole he was for leaving her so abruptly, even if he didn’t mean to. 

They all thought he was dead right now, and that was the last thing he wanted to leave El with. She had already lost so much in her short life, she couldn’t lose him now too. He regretted not having that heart-to-heart after all.

Hot tears burned at the back of his throat when he thought about the two most important women in his life, left behind without knowing just how much he cared for them. How much he loved them. _Goddamnit._

The only reassurance he had was that El or maybe even Joyce would find his letter sooner rather than later and that they’d read it. And he was okay with that. It would at least give El some closure if he didn’t end up surviving this... 

* * * 

It felt like the road dragged on and on with no end in sight, but he stayed steady on course. Concentrating on one foot in front of the other, he started to sing to keep his mind on his task, the words to Black Sabbath’s _Iron Man_ coming to him easily from the farthest reaches of his brain.

_Has he lost his mind?_

_Can he see or is he blind?_

_Can he walk at all,_

_Or if he moves will he fall?_

Hopper’s lip curled as he trudged through the heavy vines underfoot, some still slithering a slow slimy path behind him, as if stalking their prey. When he stops — if he stops — he knows that is when they’ll get him. So he didn’t stop, even for a second, even though his body desperately wanted to shut down, curl up in a ball. Succumb to exhaustion. 

He contemplated smoking his last cigarette to boost his energy, as if the tiny hit of nicotine could do something for him. He imagined himself strong, a warrior heading into battle, his body not letting him down until he crossed the finish line. 

There was no “Fat Rambo” here. Only true grit. A hardened soldier once more. 

_He was turned to steel_

_In the great magnetic field_

_Where he traveled time_

_For the future of mankind…_

Hopper sang quietly to himself and not very well. First, it was the few Black Sabbath songs he knew, then the best of Jim Croce, the Stones, and finally Zepplin, moving through the discographies he knew off by heart. He made it to the middle of _Kashmir_ when his voice finally gave out, and his mind began to wander once more. 

* * *

He thought about the walk and how far he had left to go. 

Time seemed to drag on the further he went, and the sharp pain from the stitch building in his side told him to slow down, take a break. Who was he kidding? He was so out of shape, keeling over from cardiac arrest would be a blessing right then and there. But he couldn’t think about that, not right now. 

He had to focus.

Instead, he thought about the Roman Legionary who marched 20 to 30 miles a day, across continents, fighting blindly for their emperors. 

Union soldiers who walked hundreds of miles home to their wives after the end of the civil war. 

Chippewa tribesmen tracking buffalo for days across the Till plains, the very ground Hawkins was founded on.

That is what Man was built for… Just not this particular man, not right now. 

Young Hopper would be horrified and ashamed of Old Hopper, a bloated, out of shape mess of a man. Nineteen-year-old Jim once traveled twenty-four and a half miles in a single day with a full kit, through the thick jungles of Vietnam in ’67, fighting a nasty case of trench foot and a bad attitude from his commander. He hated every second of it, but he survived. There was no way, no how he could do that now, not in his current condition. At least back then, he had rations, a full canteen, and was never without a pack of Luckies in his breast pocket. 

He licked his dry, cracked lips. The cravings had started, but he didn’t want to smoke that last cigarette just yet. He promised himself he would quit when he got home, if he ever made it back. 

* * *

It was like someone ripped the rug right out from underneath him. The ground beneath him shook violently, sending him to his knees, catching him off guard.

Hopper didn’t have time to react. The quake was over as soon as it started. 

When he opened his eyes again, his red gloved hands gripped the grass underneath him. Bright green grass, grown tall and wild. Alive and blowing in the wind. He looked around him to see nothing but grass and blue skies and hills that rolled forever — not the hell he was walking through only a moment before. He was back in the real world.

_Oh, thank god._

In the distance, the plains stretched on and on against the horizon, but Hawkins wasn’t anywhere in sight. 

Nothing was in sight, except the wild, wild country. 

He turned around to take it all in; the scene was striking. The expanse of it all, beautiful blue spacious skies and amber waves of rolling plains as far as the eye could see. The road he had been walking on no longer existed. The outlying landscape was almost identical to the one he knew like the back of his hand, except for the fact there was nothing: no buildings, no fences, no roads, no sign of human life anywhere, living or otherwise. 

A hawk soared overhead, it’s cry carrying far and wide. A doe and two fawns played in a stream a couple hundred yards away.

Hopper blinked. Did he fall and hit his head again? Maybe it was all a dream… He figured he was one good concussion away from a coma anyway -- but more than likely, this had something to do with the Mind Flayer, and the damage Eleven had done. He couldn’t be lucky enough to be in a coma.

Hopper’s gut told him to keep walking in the direction he was headed in initially, there was no sense in staying put. Despite the change of scenery, he intrinsically knew where he was going and kept moving towards the Byers house (or where it should be.) His heart guided him, the internal compass. 

In the distance, Hopper heard a whoop and a holler, echoing around him. 

Another call and then a return from others. 

Hopper turned to see where it’s coming from, just as horses galloped out from beyond the nearest treeline, hooves kicking up trodden earth as they raced toward him across the plains. Six horses, each with a rider, their bows raised and aimed. He instinctively reached to his belt for his sidearm and bent at the knees in defense, ready to run. 

Could they see him? Were they riding over here? 

_What the fuck is going on?_

What he’s witnessing doesn’t register until an arrow narrowly misses him, and then he’s running for his life, tripping and falling as hooves stampede overhead… 

A thick fog enveloped him, swirling and blinding him, and when it cleared, he was back where he started, in the dark, trapped in the Upside Down. 

He pushed himself up from the ground and checked once more for injuries, finding nothing new, before he continued on his march. He was so close to shelter, he couldn’t stop to think about what just happened right now. 

But he still worried. Something was wrong. Nothing like that had ever happened before in the other times he had been here. 

Even if he thought he knew what to expect from this place… he wasn’t safe. Not by a long shot.

* * *

Stumbling over his feet, he was beyond exhausted when he realized he made it to the junction of Cornwallis and Kerly. When he made the last turn down decrepit streets towards her house, he finally hit his second wind. Half a mile to go, and then home free… for the moment. 

A strangely familiar sight greeted him at the foot of the driveway. A demonic egg, standing no more than three feet tall, glowed an eerie shade of blue. It’s slimy exterior oozed, indicating a new hatch. 

As he approached the house, he removed the gun from its holster strapped to the suit and pointed it ahead, guiding his way up to the porch.

The front door was open, probably left from the last time they were there. The house looked nearly the same as the day they came looking for Will, a year and a half previous. 

He recognized a few new things this time around, though. The dining room table, the sewing table in the hall, and that kitschy rooster clock in the kitchen that she loved so damn much. The picture of Bob Newby, Superhero hanging on the fridge.

One by one, he checked and cleared all the rooms, and when he was satisfied that he was alone in the house, he got to work. Joyce’s perfectly arranged living room was about to get rearranged, but he knew she wouldn’t care too much considering the circumstances. 

He started with the couch, pushing it sideways up against the front windows, so only the top of the glass was exposed. It wouldn’t be a permanent fixture, but it would do for now. The dining room table was next, moved end over end, up against the front door. The kitchen table was designated to the back door, and cupboard doors ripped off hinges act as shutters against the rest of the exposed windows. 

It didn’t take long for the exhaustion to take over after he reinforced the house, and soon he found himself shuffling down the hall towards the bedrooms, pulling the suit off of him piece by piece starting with the gloves. Desperate to feel the air on his skin no matter the cost — he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take in that thing. He was beyond thirst now; he was beyond hunger. 

By the time he crashed down on her bed, the black void had begun encircling his mind. He didn’t fight it. 

Only for a moment, as his head hit her pillow, he catches a whiff of her scent, shampoo and perfume. That was all it took to make that cold, barren place feel like home and like a light switched off, he fell asleep immediately.

  



	3. Chapter 3

After the explosion, there was nothing, and then suddenly, everything. 

A brilliant light swallows up the void, closing the gate with it, welding shut with white hot and flashing blue bolts. It stuns anyone who’s watching, bright red illuminated behind closed eyes. Worlds bleed through, colliding; their light scatters across dimensions as the machine malfunctions.

Behind blast proof glass, Joyce covers her face and keeps her eyes closed. The pulse of light stuns her at first, followed by a sharp blow to her senses when the shockwave hits. Pain shoots out from behind her eyes and burrows its way into the base of her skull. The air around her charges and snaps, then stills. Even though the light has dimmed, she keeps her eyes closed in fear that she’s about to see something she would never be able to forget. When she finally works up the courage, she slowly opens them to see everything as it should be. Their enemy is dead. The gate is closing and the machine is destroyed, emitting heavy, black smoke. 

Hopper is gone _._

The air leaves her lungs in a rush at the sight of the empty platform. She’s not sure what happened. Their mission was complete, but he wasn’t there with her anymore, and that was all she knew. Nothing else mattered anymore.

She stares at the spot where he stood not a minute earlier. Forcing herself to move, she holds onto the railing with both hands as she walks down the stairs to see for herself that he’s really not there. Looking around, tears blurring her view from the platform, she blinks them away so she can see. 

Nothing. No body, no blood, no evidence that he even stood here at all. Someone’s crying hysterically and she realizes it’s her. A slight movement draws her bleary eyes up the wall. She stops wailing long enough to watch in a daze as the gate glowed one last time as it sealed, shifting like an otherworldly cocoon under a thick layer of cement. 

When Murray gets a hold of her a moment later, she can’t answer him. She can’t move. Her brain is stuck on one thought, repeating in her mind like a broken record, over and over. 

_He’s gone._

_He’s gone._

_He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s really gone._

It doesn’t seem real.

It takes everything she has not to collapse on the floor where he stood only moments before. Russian soldiers flood the control room looking for them and Murray is screaming at her to go. She knows she should follow him down the stairs. Their lives are still in danger. 

But in her nightmares, she ignores Murray and walks over to the edge of the platform to look down. 

And every time, Hopper's there, holding on for dear life. He’s looking back at Joyce, scared, barely gripping the last rung of the ladder. Hanging in the balance above an inky-black nothing.

"Take my hand!" Joyce calls down to him, her arm outstretched, but he's always just out of reach. Joyce cries his name as his fingers slip. 

Hopper falls backward, calling out for her as he drops down, 

down 

into the void.


	4. Chapter 4

Joyce woke from her nightmare with a start, calling out his name just like she did the previous night, and the night before that too. The bedsheets were twisted around her, drenched in sweat, and she clung to them, looking around her darkroom in a panic, before finding her bearings and reminding herself. _You're okay. You're home._

She was in her room. Safe. The house was quiet, kids asleep in their beds. Nothing was out of place, and everything was as it should be. But Hopper was still gone. 

She took a deep, shaky breath and laid back down, closing her eyes. She hadn't slept a solid night since he… 

She refused to say what the newspapers were calling it: a heroic death. 

Hawkins had made the national news once again. No longer a sleepy little town in a flyover state, but a bonafide conspiracy theory on the map now with thirty people still missing, thirteen confirmed dead, including the Chief of Police who perished in the fire. It was a living nightmare in small-town USA, and Hawkins would never be the same again. Her home, as she knew it, was gone.

_Just like Hopper._

The clock on her bedside table flashed, 4:03 am. The air was hot and sticky, charged with electricity in the air. A heavy calm before the storm. 

Lighting lit up the room in brief flashes and off in the distance, thunder rumbled. 

Joyce’s mind wandered.

Despite being the last person to see Hopper, she could hardly believe he was truly gone. The finality of it all was missing, not like what she felt when Bob died. With Bob, she saw him ripped apart, heard his screaming, and smelled the blood… _God, there was so much blood._

But with Hopper, it was different. 

Initially, she didn't want to close her eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to witness his death too. When she opened them again to nothing, it made her wish she hadn't. 

It didn't feel like he was dead, and until she saw proof otherwise, she was going to have a hard time believing it. This time definitely felt more like Will than Bob… 

_See, I should be used to this by now,_ she thought sardonically. 

After all, this was the third time in nearly as many years that she lost someone she loved to that thing, that… _monster_. The thought of it made her shake with a rage she couldn't describe and the inescapable terror of what it could possibly take from her next. 

Tears burned behind Joyce's eyelids and spilled down over her cheeks, and this time, she didn't hold back. Her whole body wracked with silent sobs as she covered her mouth with her hands. She felt the urge to scream into the void, but she'd have to save that for when the kids were out of the house.

There hadn't been time to properly grieve yet, and Joyce had been putting on a brave face for her family, not wanting El to see her cry. She felt like she had no right, especially after how she handled Hopper those last few days: standing him up on the not-a-date-date that she knew darn well was a date, looking back at it. Hopper attempting to come clean with her about his feelings. All Joyce did was deflect his attention, make jokes. She couldn't take his sincerity seriously. 

Tears came in torrents now and soaked through her pillow as she reflected on the last week for the first time since it happened.

Five days had passed by in a flash, filled with daily debriefs and appointments. With Owens and other government department heads; about what happened at Starcourt with the Russians; how much money she'd be getting this time (she was pushing for the _big_ payout); and reviewing what she could and couldn't say to the media, signing her life away. 

Journalists and TV reporters from all over the country were hounding her again, this time with even more gusto than before. The New York Times, the Tribune, CNN, each of them looking for their exclusive. They tracked her movement any time she went into town and called at all hours despite the unlisted phone number. Between them and the phone calls from the funeral home and Jim's lawyer asking her to come in to sign paperwork for his estate, the phone had been ringing off the hook.

It was like she was living her worst nightmare all over again. 

Mostly, she stayed home when she could. Jonathan did the occasional run into town while Will and El spent most of their time at Mike's, recognizing Joyce's unspoken need to be alone. They all met up at dinner and to spend the evenings together, watching tv until they all dropped off to sleep, one by one. 

All except Joyce. 

She would stay up until the wee hours watching whatever comedic drivel was on late-night, and when the national anthem played and the station turned to static, her eyes heavy, she shut the TV off and padded down the hallway to bed where sleep followed soon after. Not her usual routine, but it was anything to stay distracted until her brain shut off.

The past five days, she tried not to think about Hopper. She couldn't. Not yet. 

Ashamed to admit it, part of her was still thinking he was coming home. Even though it had been almost a week, she still hoped they'd find him. It would be one big mistake, and everything would go back to normal. Will had been missing too, confirmed dead and look how that turned out. 

Bob's death had left a hole in her heart that she still wasn't sure she could mend and to suddenly lose Hopper too… It was all just too much. She couldn’t bear it and now she was haunted by the two men she had loved and lost. The last image she had of Hopper was burned into her mind's eye. Hopper, just standing there, with his bloody smile. Every time she closed her eyes. He had taken Bob’s place behind her eyelids.

All the things she should have said to Hopper, the things she should’ve done filled her brain on an endless loop unless the radio or tv was on, sometimes both. 

She worried about what she was going to do now without him by her side -- how could she ever raise El without him?

She wondered if he'd still be dead if only she just did things a little differently. 

No, she couldn’t think about that right now.

Joyce didn't know where it came from, but her strength surprised her when she forced herself to squirrel those thoughts away in the back of her mind and focus on practically anything else. Going through the motions until it was all just a blur of routine and obligations, one right after the other.

In five days, between her appointments, she did all the laundry and cleaned the house, including the boy's rooms, twice. She emptied out drawers and closets. She even washed her good china and polished the silver Aunt Darlene had left her, something that hadn't been done in years. 

She quit her job, not bothering to give Donald any notice — he was just waiting for an excuse to board up the store anyway. 

She rearranged Will's bedroom to accommodate El, and just today, she had Jonathan bring home a new twin bed for the girl. 

She did everything she could to distract her from the horrifying realization. 

_Hopper's gone._

But no matter what she did, or how hard she tried to outrun them, those words sat at the edge of her thoughts since she turned the key and she had kept them at bay for five whole days. 

But now, in the early twilight of dawn, she finally gave in, and let the grief wash over her, and the facade she had built up came crashing down. Her heart ached for all the things she could've done differently and everything she had the power to change in the days leading up to the battle at Starcourt. Her heart ached for him and what might've been.

It ached too, for the poor young girl in the room across the hallway, who never seemed to have a chance in life until Jim Hopper came along. And now she had lost another parent and her only home. Joyce was trying her best to stay strong for El, but she knew she was failing. 

Taking El in was one of the hardest things she had ever done. Joyce was at a loss on how to comfort the girl when she could barely talk herself down from the edge. Worst of all, Joyce felt guilty for wanting to keep this pain private. El hadn't known Jim Hopper for very long. Joyce didn't know how much he had told her and didn't feel like her place to fill in the blanks.

And if bringing El home was the hardest thing Joyce had ever done, bringing her best friend's belongings home in boxes was even harder. Two days after he disappeared, Joyce and Jonathan drove the kids out to the cabin to see what they could salvage. El silently picked through their decimated home on her crutch, pointing at the heavy items for the boys to pick up for her.

Joyce found his uniform right away, caught underneath the rubble of the front porch. It was the one thing of his she didn't want to leave behind. She really didn't want to leave _anything_ behind, but looking around the cabin, there wasn't much left anyway. So, she let Eleven take the lead in choosing what she wanted to take and numbly loaded the items into her Pinto.

"What about these?" Jonathan had asked El, pointing to a hole smashed through the floorboards. 

El looked down at the labeled boxes hiding in the crawl space and nodded, choking back her tears. 

_Hawkins. Vietnam. NYPD._ _Dad._ Boxes that contained Hopper's whole life.

"That one too," El had said, pointing to the patterned box marked _Sara_ tucked under the bed when they were clearing out his bedroom. 

Joyce knew exactly what was in the box and picked it up with care and a shaky breath. That definitely could not get left behind. 

By the end of the sweep, they had filled the back of both cars with Hopper's most valuable earthly possessions, or what was left of them. 

Joyce didn't want to look through them yet — she was still hoping she wouldn't have to. And now they sat on her bedroom floor, always there, reminding her. Her tell-tale heart.

_Hopper's gone._

Joyce was gasping to catch her breath now, her sobs running away on her. Hopper's words popped into her mind, and she heeded them -- breathe _._

_Just breathe._

Joyce took a deep breath in and held it before letting go, releasing her pain and sorrow along with it. Her sleep-deprived brain was imagining Hopper being there, a comforting presence guiding her through the darkness. He would hold her and remind her to breathe, and with a kiss on the temple, he'd tell her to get some rest. To let him worry about it all for a while. 

Just the thought of him ebbed her tears away, and she caught her breath. _Deep breaths,_ she reminded herself. _In… and out._

Lightning lit the room up, and the nightlight on the wall flickered and burned bright from the power surge. It blinked rapidly and then tapered off. She was staring at the dim yellow light for a long moment before she realized how unbelievably tired she was, her thoughts becoming muddied and muddled in between dreams. Eyes heavy, bleary with tears, and the weight of the past few days and Joyce let them close with little resistance. 

Thunder cracked outside, rattling the house, and she felt the bed shift next to her. It stirred her awake, instantly concerned for the young girl under her care.

"El, is that you? It's okay, honey," Joyce said, whispering into the dark of the room. 

She waited and listened — but when there was no response, she nestled back in, not wanting to think anymore. 

Sleep was waiting, and hopefully, this time, it would be deep and dreamless.

A breeze blew through the room, bringing with it dampness that clung to her skin. She rolled onto her side to get comfortable, and her cheek hit the pillow where it was still wet from her tears. She flipped it over with a huff, resting her head back down, finally finding a comfy position, kicking her legs out over the edge of the bed to cool down some more. 

That was when her breathing slowed, and she started to drift off.


	5. *Chapter 5*

The breeze tickled at her neck, or maybe it was a mosquito. She brought her hand up to make the sensation go away. Only that seemed to make it worse. 

Joyce froze. Now it felt like fingers, rough and calloused, working hands, gently brushing against her skin. A hand settled on her stomach, but instead of panic, she felt a sense of calm come over her instantly. She pressed back into the embrace, suddenly wrapped up in his big arms. 

Hopper pulled her in tight to him with a deep, satisfied breath. He didn’t have to say anything; she knew what he wanted, to be the big spoon to her little. His chin resting on the crown of her head. The perfect fit.

When he reached up to brush her hair away from her face, he kissed her temple. Joyce’s body shuddered, and her breath caught in her throat, instantly lucid. 

She had to be dreaming… 

He pulled away from her slightly. In that small movement, she could smell traces of his aftershave mixed with his heady scent. She could hear him behind her, making quiet little appreciative grunts as he admired and touched her body in the dark. Fingers brushed over her neck once more, with an old familiar, lingering touch. They gently trailed across her shoulders, down her spine and back up over her waist, leaving a trail of fire as he traced her curves. 

Joyce pressed herself back against him, tucking herself further into the shelter of his large frame. It had been years since they did this little dance, but the steps came back to her quickly. If this was all a dream, Joyce figured she might as well enjoy it as long as she could. She didn’t dare open her eyes, scared it would be over before it even began.

His hardness pressed against the small of her back, and the feeling sent shivers down to her toes and up again, leaving her whole body vibrating with energy. His hand was playing with the hem of the vintage Hawkins High tee-shirt she was wearing, and she dreamily wondered if he would recognize it in the dark, stolen from one of his boxes from the cabin _._

His hand pushed the fabric up, and he cupped her breast roughly, claiming her, at the same time nuzzling the delicate curve of her neck, planting tiny kisses there. 

A low hum reverberated in her ear, but she couldn’t tell if it was coming from him or all around them. Lighting strobed and thunder cracked overhead, the sound reverberating through the house. The storm was right above them now. 

Her panties were pushed to the side as he entered her with a charge she had never felt before, their bodies sliding, fitting together perfectly. As if no time ever kept them apart. 

Joyce gasped at the sensation of Hopper’s thick cock spreading her tight. She shivered, getting used to his girth, and he growled in her ear, nipping at her patiently. When she was ready for him and gave her hips a wiggle, he began to thrust into her. 

At first, it was slow, but with every breath, he picked up speed, fucking her with abandon, his left hand holding onto her hips as he pounded into her over and over again. His other hand slid down her tummy to tease, and when his fingers found her clit, she quickly lost all sense of time or space. 

She didn’t bother telling him to go slow. They both knew it wouldn’t be the leisurely, drawn-out lovemaking they both craved, but it would be a quick frantic fuck, and that was enough right then; all they needed. 

The tide of her pleasure ebbed and flowed over every nerve-ending in her body, and it wasn’t very long before her orgasm crept up on them both, making her come in forceful waves over and over, the storm outside drowning out any noises they might’ve made. Moments later, she could feel Hopper stiffen up as he joined her on the other side, shooting his load deep as he came.

If it was all a dream, it seemed pretty fucking real to her. 

Joyce felt intoxicated, drugged, love drunk. A burst of endorphins rushing through her veins like morphine. She couldn’t remember the last time she had such an intense orgasm. Giggling to herself, Joyce covered her face in her hands, a content smile spreading across her face, before rolling onto her side to face him. She opened her eyes, wanting to see him, kiss him, feel him some more. 

Lightning lit the room up for a brief second, and she saw then that no one was there. 

Her heart sank. The bed was empty, sheets still twisted and damp around her body. Thunder cracked overhead, and it shook her fully awake. 

The dream was over, and she was alone.


	6. Chapter 6

There was no way Joyce could sleep now.

With a groan, she rolled out of bed and quietly made her way to the bathroom. It was still storming outside, but she started the shower anyway, figuring she couldn't be so lucky as to have her house struck by lightning, too. Part of her wanted to tempt fate anyway.

She ran the water as cold as she could stand it to wash away the heat and the lingering remnants of the dream off her skin. In the moment, it had felt so unbelievably good, but now that she was fully awake, it only left her with a hollow pit in her stomach. 

* * * 

White noise rattled him out of restless sleep and he moaned, rolling over, minding himself and the awkward position he found himself in on her bed. Had he been dreaming?

He blinked, clearing his blurry vision where a light shone down the hallway into the bedroom. Water rushed in his ears, and he jumped out of bed, grabbing his gun and stumbled down the hall, hoping he wasn’t just imagine things. 

Someone was in the house with him. 

The odd and hazy light was pulsing now, coming from the bathroom. Hopper made his way slowly to the light until he heard it. 

Crying. Soft, muffled sobs, hidden beneath the steady flow of the shower. 

_Joyce._

Hopper's heart caught in his throat as he turned the corner into the bathroom and couldn't believe his eyes. She was okay.

Joyce was standing in the bathroom, drenched in light from the vanity, the glow lighting up the darkness of the upside-down, illuminating him in the shadows. The two worlds had collided and now a bubble of her reality was breaking through to the other side right in front of him. Hopper could only see a small radius around her, maybe three feet in all directions, but he was getting a glimpse into her world -- the real world -- in real-time. He wondered, could she see him too?

"Joyce," he spoke, calling her name quietly, calmly, so he didn't startle her, but she only stood in front of the mirror in silence; she didn't even know he was there. 

Joyce's cheeks were ruddy from crying, lips cracked and raw from where she’d been chewing on them, and her hair was a rat’s nest mess on the top of her head. She looked awful. But she was okay, and that's all that mattered.

She wiped at her tired eyes as she examined her face. A bruise on her forehead was turning a mottled green, the dark red scab in the center healing up nicely. Terry-cloth shrugged off her shoulder, and she examined the welts on her back. 

Hopper was frozen. He didn't know what to do. He needed to contact her, get her attention. But how? He stood outside the bathroom door in awe as she shimmered in front of him, like a hazy dream. She poked and prodded the bruises with an anguished frown until she sighed and tutted them away. 

When she closed the door on his face, she looked right through him, chilling him to his bones. He needed to get her attention somehow and let her know. 

He was still there.

* * *

Now that she'd allowed herself to think about him, Joyce couldn't stop. She replayed the days leading up to his last, over and over. All the little interactions she could have said or done something more and all the missed opportunities to be more open with him, wondering what their date would have been like if she didn't blow him off. 

The regret hit Joyce where it hurt, and she covered her face in her hands, sobs wracking her naked body, shielded by the shower curtain. The cobwebs of her dream were hanging on for dear life, but as she caught her breath, she resolved not to let the grief take over any more than it already had. The water hit her face, washing away tears. The icy droplets hit her skin and numbed the pain. 

When she stepped out of the shower, she felt only a little sense of renewal, and she took a deep, steady breath before finding her strength again. 

Hair wrapped up in a towel, she headed back to her room in her housecoat to grab the stationary and pen she asked Jonathan to pick out earlier that day. A regular bic and looseleaf simply wouldn't be enough for her next task. 

Time was running out. She had meant to let Diane know sooner rather than later. They had declared Jim officially dead a week prior, and now Joyce was planning his funeral, less than a week from today. 

Diane had gotten ahold of her first after the initial wave of news reports hit the national broadcasts. She had left a message with Jonathan, something about how she still had an old copy of Jim's will, in case he didn't have an updated one, and if Joyce needed any help making arrangements, to let her know. 

Joyce meant to call Diane back, she really did. But between taking in Hopper's secret psionic adopted daughter, ducking reporters and rabid news crews hoping to get the scoop, and planning Jim's funeral, the call to Diane was put on the backburner and quickly forgotten. Days later, the idea of an awkward pleasantries phone call to Diane on top of everything else piling up made Joyce want to climb under a rock.

Yesterday morning, she had tried to sit down to write Diane, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn't put pen to paper. The stationary seemed too cheerful. The pen in her hand felt too heavy. Her words failed her. 

After all, what was she supposed to say to Hopper's ex-wife? 

_"Funerals on Friday — Hope you can make it! Sorry for your loss."_

Diane had been with Hop for seven years, married for six. In comparison, Joyce barely knew him, yet here she was, telling his ex-wife his final plans to be laid to rest. She sighed, forcing herself to write.

_Dear Diane —_

She traced her salutations slowly, thinking about what she wanted to say, but the words just wouldn't come. Reaching for the pack of smokes across from her, she lit one up and stared at the page. Pale blue stationery with a navy scroll along the side. At the time, it seemed appropriate, but now it just seemed gaudy.

The clock ticking acted as her metronome. In time, she tapped her foot against the table, took another drag off the cigarette, and got lost in her thoughts. The ink from the pen resting on the page left behind a blue pool, marring the paper with all her thoughts in that one tiny ink spot bleeding out and into the other pages below. 

The pad was ruined. Joyce huffed in frustration.

"Should've just called," she mumbled aloud, scolding herself. She crumpled up the paper in her hand and tossed it across the table. 

***

Hopper followed Joyce around the house as she floated in his vision like a ghost down the halls. Only, he supposed, he was the ghost in this situation. 

Pops of color from the real world muddied with his in grayscale and he wondered if he would be able to see El or the boys in this way too. As she passed Will’s bedroom door, Hopper tried the door and saw his daughter for a brief second before Joyce walked too far away from him and he lost sight of her.

When Joyce sat down at the kitchen table, and lit up her cigarette, Hopper sank down to the floor across from her and lit up his last smoke too. If this was it, at least he could say they got to share one last smoke together. He watched Joyce breath deeply, exhaling from her nose in a steady stream, something she only did when she was particularly upset. 

Then she spoke aloud, catching his attention. 

“Should’ve just called,” she mumbled, tossing the crumpled note with a grimace.

Hopper ashed on the floor, listening to her talk to herself, before he jolted to his feet like her words had shocked him.

Why didn’t he think of that? If it worked for Will, it might work for him too…. there was only one way to find out.

***

She looked to the clock on the wall, 4:51am. It was still way too early to call, but she could get a head start anyway, looking up Diane's number. If she recalled, Hop had it in his Rolodex, which was in one of the boxes they had brought home. 

As Joyce was quietly digging through the boxes on the floor of her room, she pulled out a photo album that was hiding the item she was looking for, but she paused for a moment to take a look, flipping the old book open with a small smile.

Baby pictures, birthday parties, Hopper family Christmases of years past, all saved up page by page, year by year. Realizing his mother must have put this together for him before she passed away, Joyce flipped to the front page to read the inscription when a picture fluttered down onto her lap from between the pages.

Joyce picked it up, placing the album back in its box, and stared at the Kodachrome photo in her hand, the colors still vibrant as ever. It was the picture her Ma took of them on prom night, so many years ago. 

Jesus, they were so young… baby faces grinning back at the camera in the classic prom pose, as if it were all a big joke to the two best friends. Little did young Joyce and Hop know what the future had in store for them. All the trouble and heartache they would endure, both together and apart, and then together again. Her heart broke for the two teenagers in the photograph, and she wished she could go back in time to warn them. 

With a sad sigh, she placed the photo on her nightstand so she'd remember to show El in the morning, grabbed the Rolodex, and headed back to the kitchen.

She flipped straight to the D's, knowing he would have indexed alphabetically by first name, and thankfully it was the first card there: Diane, with her maiden name and married names listed and crossed out. Her newest last name was bolded in Hopper's distinctive scrawl, practically carved out on cardstock in bright blue pen, as if written over and over in anger. 

Diane ~~Stevens~~ ~~Hopper~~ **Johnston**.

All the different phone numbers Diane had over the years spent with Hop were also crossed out, except for one down at the very bottom of the card, written in the same angry blue. 

She was staring at Hopper's handwriting when a shrill ringing broke her thoughts — _the phone_. She dropped the Rolodex, and cards spilled out everywhere. Who the hell would be calling this early in the morning? She reached for the telephone quickly just as it started to ring again, hoping it wouldn't wake the kids. 

"Shit," she mumbled and cradled the receiver between her shoulder and her ear, bending to pick up the cards. "Hello?" she asked, voice creaking, trying to mask her annoyance at the early wake-up call.

Static crackled on the other end, and she could hear someone say her name. She froze. It was happening again.

"Hello? Who's there?"

She sucked in her breath, listening carefully to the distorted sounds on the other end of the line. 

_"Joyce?"_

Joyce found the ground easily, sinking down to it slowly, letting it keep her steady as her heart caught in her throat. Her mouth was forming his name before she could find her voice, suddenly out of breath.

"Hop? Is that you?" 

He sounded so far away.

_"Can you hear me?"_

"Yes!" she said, loudly at first but then whispered into the phone, remembering the kids were still sleeping. "Yes, I can hear you. Oh god, Jim, is it really you? Please be real."

_"Of course, it's me. It's not like I'm dead or something."_

"Jesus, that's not funny. Where… are you?" she asked, though she was pretty confident she already knew the answer. 

_"I'm-- the --own… in your--"_

Her heart caught in her throat as the call cut out. "Hop? Hello?" The line was dead. 

The lights flickered above her head like a moment of clarity. The lights flickered again. And then the hallway lights flickered too, beckoning for her to follow.

She moved towards them, taking a tentative step forward, feeling a sick sense of deja vu as the flickering moved too. It jumped from light to light, down the hall, past the closed doors of the kid's rooms, leading her back to her bedroom. 

The nightstand light flickered when she rounded the corner into her room, drawing her attention to the photo. Was this what the lights wanted her to see? The light turned off and slowly came back to life.

It was happening again.

"Hopper," she whispered to her empty room, or maybe to the picture on the bedside table. "Are you still here?"

She sat on the bed and watched the room closely, looking for any other signs, but nothing more happened, and she started to wonder if it had all been in her head. She curled up into a ball on the bed and prayed it was him, that her intuition was right. There was still hope.

It didn't take long before her eyes grew heavy, and she finally fell into a deep sleep, just as the sun was beginning to rise.


	7. Chapter 7

As the sun came up on her side of the universe, Joyce faded from view. 

Hopper stayed in her room to see if she would come back, but when the minutes dragged by and he couldn’t feel her presence anymore, he decided to see what he could scavenge for supplies. He was running on pure adrenaline now, so it was best to use his time wisely: if he went out to look for food now, he wouldn’t have to later, and then he could work on getting Joyce on the line again.

Hopper went to the bathroom sink and turned the tap on to splash water in his face, starting his ‘day’ out of habit. The pipes shuddered and groaned, and finally, a slow trickle of muddy water leaked out. The trickle slowly turned into a small, steady stream, and he shrugged. At least it was something he could use to rinse off with or (hopefully) flush the toilet. But it wouldn’t work for drinking, and that was going to be a problem. 

He’d need to find some bottled water and soon. The fact that he wasn’t thirsty anymore meant he was already dehydrated, and it wouldn’t be long until organs started to shut down on him. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had other priorities like finding food too.

Hopper waited until the water turned from murky brown to grey before he washed his face and slicked back his hair in an attempt to feel somewhat normal. As he suited up, he plotted out his mission for the day.

First, he’d head into town and see what was still salvageable to eat in this world, if there was anything at all. He’d raid the grocery store to grab distilled water, lighters or matches, maybe a few canned goods, or packaged food with a long and questionable shelf life. Something like twinkies or ho-hos, which he was almost positive, could survive an apocalypse. Instant coffee would be nice too. _And please, god, let them have Camels._

After Hopper was through finding suitable rations, he’d head East to the cabin, see if he could find that emergency kit he had stashed for a rainy day like today. 

Then, back to Joyce’s to rest until he could see her again, whenever that would be. If it was even possible. 

He checked the barrel of his gun for a bullet count and secured it tight to his body, strapped over the dark red hazmat suit. 

Respirator, check.

Visor, check.

Lights, check.

And just like Neil Armstrong, Hopper took a small step out into the great unknown.

*** 

The trek through the forest towards town was long and daunting, but Hopper expected nothing less. The little sleep he was running on now, and a desire to see Joyce again soon gave him just enough energy to stay the course.

He wandered down the lonely roads into town. He couldn’t see more than a hundred feet in any direction in the decaying fog that had settled over Hawkins, dulling his senses and making his breaths shallow. For a moment, he had a feeling he wasn’t alone. Footsteps crunched behind him, and he started to turn slightly until they stopped. If it were a Demogorgon, he reasoned, he’d be dead by now, so it had to be someone else here, stuck in this place with him. Whoever it was, they were skittish, stopping when he stopped, only moving again when he moved first.

Hopper continued on his way and pretended he didn’t hear them until the footsteps faded and dropped off behind him. When he finally turned around, he wondered if he had heard anything at all or if it was just his mind starting to play tricks on him — the weight of isolation setting in.

  


*** 

It was unsettling to see Hawkins in this state. An apocalyptic American still life by Norman fucking Rockwell. It looked almost normal, as if the world stopped spinning one day, and everyone had just up and disappeared before the Mind Flayer took over. The only apparent signs of life were the occasional empty egg sack leftover from a newly hatched Demogorgon (which had yet to make an appearance, oddly enough, though Hopper was on high alert for them) and creepy-crawly vines that grew wild.

Bradley’s Big Buy neon sign hung upside down from the pole in the parking lot, marking out his salvation in the distance. Hopper half expected to see the grocery store ransacked, windows busted out, shelves cleared of goods, but as he approached, it looked the same as always. Just like Brad had locked up for the evening and then vanished off the face of the planet… a thousand years ago. 

Hefting a rock in his hand, Hopper tossed it and hit one of the side windows, wincing as the sound of the glass shattering echoed out into the streets of the deserted town. Hopefully, that didn’t attract anything or anyone.

The grocery store was a time capsule of what used to be. Signs hung from the rafters advertising a long-forgotten sale. Shelves were fully stocked, but the produce had turned to compost in the stands, and all the fresh food was so far gone it’s best before date, he couldn’t even smell the decay anymore. He would stick to the center aisles, looking for prepackaged grub that could still be edible.

The first priority was the cigarettes stored at the lotto stand near the check out counters. It was stocked full and they had his brand, hallelujah. Hopper slipped the backpack from the suit off his shoulders and opened it wide, knocking a row of filterless Camels into the bag. He opened one pack and popped a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it with one of the lighters from the cashier’s counter, savoring the first puff like it could be his last. He dumped the box of lighters into the bag too before he proceeded to search for his next priority: water.

Purified water was going to be a problem. Brad’s only carried it in one-gallon sized jugs, which didn’t help with keeping his load light. Hopper wouldn’t be able to take more than a few at a time, so he’d have to plan to get back here before he ran out again. He grabbed a jug and popped the top off, taking a big gulp and then another, before remembering to slow down. 

With a sigh, both from relief and pain of the task ahead of him, he walked the center aisles, looking for food that was still passed as food.

He grabbed a box of crackers first and looked at the Sell-By date — February 1986. The same as it would be if he was still at home, in the real world. Strange. But he wasn’t about to argue with the weird laws of time and space the Mind Flayer was operating within. Hopper shrugged and ripped into the box, looking down at the still crisp, still golden brown saltines. Once he confirmed they didn’t smell rancid, he shoved a handful into his mouth. They tasted fine, maybe a little stale, but he was too hungry to notice or care.

The box of Ritz was shoved under his arm as he continued to walk the aisles, tossing in anything and everything that looked good and had a high amount of preservatives into his backpack. Joyce would be rolling her eyes at him if she could see him now. El would be happily joining him in loading the cart with junk and that thought made him smile. 

***

Hopper was scanning the shelves for the highest sugar-content cereal he could find when the world went sideways on him again.

The Mind Flayer was having another temper tantrum, making the world around him shudder and shake as he stomped over the remnants of Hawkins. Through the big storefront windows, he could see the sky light up in crimsons, and flashes of blue. Boxes fell off the shelves, and the ceiling tiles collapsed, and then he blinked.

Jim Hopper had come unstuck in time, and now he was standing in the middle of Brad’s Big Buy on a busy Saturday morning. No one seemed to notice him, but as a familiar face walked by, he still ducked behind a display of Ovaltine out of instinct. It was uncanny seeing himself in the flesh. Younger, but not by much. Past Hopper looked haggard and miserable like he was just barely hanging on, but it helped the Future Hopper pinpoint when in time he had been sent to: After Sara’s death, but before Will went missing.

Hopper never could understand why some people used to flinch when he spoke to them, but watching himself now, back then, it was evident the anger he carried inside was seeping out of him. Like an infected wound. And that day, he seemed particularly ornery. 

He had likely just gotten off nightshift and stopped by the store out of necessity (to buy something to sustain him between cans of Schlitz. Cereal was always the go-to bachelor meal, and that just happened to be the same aisle Joyce Byers was parked in, her nose buried in her shopping list. He was half asleep when he walked into her cart, and she rolled her eyes at him. 

The memory unlocked for Future Hopper as he witnessed the interaction unfold just as it had years ago. 

Joyce had said “hi” first, and he remembered how he had felt obligated to reply. It was Labor Day weekend, 1982 — judging by Joyce’s new and awful Silkwood haircut. 

He remembered he had a loaded comment on deck when he saw her, but bit his tongue instead — “ _Meryl Streep called, and she wants her haircut back.” —_ And he was thankful now, looking back on it, that he had kept that comment to himself.

He also recalled that he had walked away smarting from this particular interaction as well, though he couldn’t remember why or how. 

That was when Joyce opened with, “So, how’s Betty Rutherford getting settled?” 

Oh yeah, that’s why. 

“Who?” Past Hopper asked, annoyed.

“Betty.” Joyce looked at him like he should know. “The hot-to-trot single mom that just moved to town? Tall. Blonde. I thought you were seeing her now? Or wait — is it Sandra that I’m thinking of? So hard to keep up with you nowadays.” Joyce shook her head with a sardonic little smile. 

Hopper bristled. 

“Who told you I was seeing either of those women?” he asked, his voice gruff. “I’m not, by the way. Seeing either of them. Anymore.”

“No one told me. It’s just that the whole town kinda knows,” Joyce shrugged like no-big-deal. “You know how people talk. Rumor has it, you’ve put quite a few more notches in that headboard of yours,” she added at the end for good measure, watching in delight as his face twisted up at her words. 

“I can’t believe you of all people would be spreading that shit around,” he growled back under his breath.

Her eyebrows shot up. 

“I’m not spreading any shit around,” she said at full volume. “Isn’t my fault you can’t find yourself a nice girl to settle down with,” she hummed to herself, almost gleefully, as she picked out a box of Shreddies and tossed it in her cart.

Hopper reached over her for a box of Lucky Charms. “Glass houses, Joy. You sound crazy. Like jealous-girlfriend level crazy.”

“Excuse me?” she huffed, straightening up to get in his face. 

Hopper leaned down and lowered his voice, making direct eye contact with her, so she knew just how serious he was. 

“You heard me. It’s also none of your goddamn business who I see or sleep with,” Past Hopper said with a cutting edge — he was having none of her shit that morning. 

“Well, sorry for caring,” Joyce rolled her eyes again, even though her voice betrayed that she wasn’t remotely sorry at all. 

Future Hopper watched from the sidelines, baffled by their interaction. It didn’t even seem like them. Hopper didn’t even know how or why it got so bad. But that was just how it was between them back then, and it probably still would be like that, if Will hadn’t gone missing. They were feuding for almost three years at this point in time — so long they had both almost forgotten why they were at war in the first place. 

_Almost._

Past Hopper waited for a beat before turning back to her and snarkily asking, “How’s Lonnie doing? Paying his child support on time?”

Joyce looked like she wanted to say something particularly ignorant in response, but they suddenly had company. Kindly old Mrs. MacDonald — the 93-year-old church organist — turned down the aisle headed straight for the bran, which they were currently laying verbal blows in front of. 

Joyce bit her tongue and rammed her cart into Hopper’s leg instead as she pushed passed him, nose in the air.

Future Hopper watched the scene unfold from afar as Past Hopper stared after the small, angry woman he used to call a good friend, and possibly something more. He saw his past self shake his head, watching Joyce stomp off, mumbling to herself over in the produce section and shooting daggers in his general direction. 

Future Hopper’s stomach twisted. It was like watching two complete strangers — he barely recognized himself, let alone Joyce. Hopper didn’t have time to dwell before the mist circled, and he was back in the upside-down, staring at the gray cereal boxes scattered on the shelves. 

***

Hopper stuffed his backpack on the hazmat suit full of rations that would last him a few days, and had taken another bag from the back to school display and filled that one with jugs of water, forgoing beer for the first time in possibly forever. Hopefully this was all he needed to get him through until he could make his way back to the Real Hawkins. 

Both bags were strung over his shoulders now, one on each, the weight slowing him down as he made his way down Evergreen Lane towards the backroads that would lead him to the cabin.

The last time he walked this road to get to the cabin was twenty years previous, if he remembered correctly — with Joyce. They stopped at Benny’s for a burger that night before Hopper told her he had a surprise for her out in the woods. Not the brightest thing to suggest to the girl you just started dating, but he was young and dumb and it sounded romantic at the time.

Hopper was almost at the cabin when another earthquake hit, more violent than all the times before. Trees swayed and bowed above his head, and broken branches fell in his path, and he covered his head with his hands, preparing for what came next. Hopper rolled his eyes, getting ready for it now. _Here we go again._

***

Nighttime, summer, maybe twenty years ago, judging by the height of the birch trees Gramps had planted along the path to the cabin. Was it the night he had been thinking about not even a moment before? Sure enough, he could hear their voices as they made their way down the path behind him. Hopper ducked behind the old maple just in time for Past Hopper and Joyce to round the bend.

They had only been dating — unofficially — for a month at this point if Hopper remembered correctly. The younger versions of themselves laughed and walked closely together in the dark, with Past Hopper in the lead, taking Past Joyce by the hand as they neared the cabin.

“Where are you taking me?” Joyce giggled, pushing her hair from her eyes. 

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

“You’re not going to murder me, are you?” she asked playfully, walking fast ahead of him now.

“Nah, I still like you. Think I’ll keep you around for a bit.” He chuckled and bounced a rock off a tree.

“Good, ’cause I like you too. A lot.” She smiled and spun to face him as they came into the clearing, holding onto his hand, never letting go. 

Future Hopper watched in amazement as Joyce practically threw herself at him and his past self all but acknowledged it. There were no walls put up for him to climb back then. How could he have been so blind? It was obvious she was head over heels for him. 

“Look,” Hopper pointed behind her, more excited about showing her the surprise instead of what she had just told him. 

Future Hopper noted the flash of sadness on Joyce’s face as she dragged her eyes off him and followed him down the path, guided by his flashlight toward the cabin. 

“This is it?” Joyce asked, eyebrow raised at the old hunter’s cabin, practically falling down, alone in the woods. 

“Yeah! This used to be my Grandad’s. He spent every fall here hunting. Said he’s gonna leave it to me when he kicks it.”

“Neat-o,” Joyce said, with a flat smile on her face. She crossed her arms, while Hopper jumped up onto the porch, by-passing the busted front steps. He held his hand out for her to grab, and she took it reluctantly, letting him pull her up on the porch.

“It’s not the cabin I wanted to show you, dummy,” Past Hopper said, but she was too busy snooping in windows now to see him pointing to the sky. 

“Oh yeah? Then what is it you want to show me?” she asked, giving him the side-eye before moving to another windowpane, a coy look playing on her face.

“You know, you are so—” Past Hopper started to say, and Future Hopper recalled the word he wanted to use: _Beautiful_. She was so, so beautiful, and he never could seem to work up the courage to tell her. Not much scared Jim Hopper back in those days. Not much, except Joyce. 

“I’m so what?” she asked, pressing her hands up against the window to the cabin to see inside before turning to him, eyebrow raised, waiting for his response.

“Nosy!” He shook his head at her. 

She wrinkled her nose at him. “What? Can’t we go inside?”

“No. Well yes, but it’s nicer out here, trust me. Just a buncha spiderwebs and boring antiques inside. The action’s out here,” Hopper said, pointing up to the stars above through a clearing in the trees. The perfect view from the front porch. 

“Hm, I like antiques,” Joyce sniffed, but then followed his gaze up and above, admiring the view and him too. “It is nice out here. Secluded too. Though I suppose that was all part of the plan when you decided to drag me out into the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s not the middle of nowhere. This place is gonna be my home one day.”

“Really?” Joyce raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Sure, why not? I could see me living out here with a wife and family, escape the hustle and bustle of Hawkins.” He smirked.

“Mmm, sounds like a nice life,” Joyce said. She leaned in, wrapping her hand up in his teeshirt and pulling him in close. Wanting him to make a move and all but slapping him with his invitation.

Past Hopper leaned down and just about landed the kiss when Future Hopper suddenly remembered what happened next.

Joyce gasped and jumped back. 

“There’s someone out there. In the trees!”

She was staring right at Future Hopper, a dark red shadow in the pines. 

_Shit._

“Who’s there?” Past Hopper shouted into the woods.

_You_ , Future Hopper thought.

He turned to run, but the bulk of the hazmat suit was getting in the way of his escape. He could hear his younger self catching up to him as they ran through the forest, Joyce calling out his name when the world shifted violently once more, and he was back in the Upside Down, with the strange feeling that they had done this all before.

***

When he backtracked back to the cabin, he wished he hadn’t. 

It was utterly destroyed. 

“Fuck!” he growled, the word echoing into the fog around him.

_Fucking shit. Goddamnit._ He let out a ferocious holler that would’ve scared a Demodog away as he tromped up the broken steps to see what was left. A fire raged through his gut at the sight of his Granddad’s cabin broken down and reduced to nothing more than kindling. Almost a hundred years of family history gone, just like that.

Hopper cursed the monster that brought this apocalypse down on his life and took away the only home El knew — his home too. It looked like the cabin had exploded. Doors were blown off their hinges, cupboards half-hanging, a giant hole in the ceiling where vines had grown in, consuming everything.

Cautious, he tiptoed around broken floorboards, and his heavy feet crunched over broken glass, as he headed to what used to be his bedroom. His dresser had been smashed in the fight against the monster, the contents unrecognizable now in this state. The bed looked like it had been tossed aside and stepped on by a giant. There was nothing left to salvage. 

When he got to the spot on the floor under his bed where he had hidden the emergency pack and flipped the boards over, he let out a sigh of relief at the sight that greeted him. The first aid kit he had planted a year ago would be a boon, with its wind-up flashlight and radio, a basic yellow hazmat suit stolen from HNL, a box of waterproof matches and a small bottle of grain alcohol — for sterilizing wounds, or for drinking, he hadn’t decided yet. 

Hopper snatched up the bag and threw it over his shoulder, but this time, the extra load didn’t weigh him down. Not right now, when he knew that his experiment worked, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the Byers’ house in the hopes he might see Joyce again.


	8. Chapter 8

Joyce returned home in the late afternoon with a stack of paperwork in her arms. From lawyers, from Owens looking for her to sign yet another release form, from the funeral home and her real estate agent. 

The night before was long forgotten, pushed back in Joyce's memory like a bad dream. Part of her wondered if it had really happened or if it was grief manifesting in a sick and twisted way. Maybe she had finally snapped? After everything she had been through, she wouldn't be surprised if she ended up like Aunt Darlene — perhaps Lonnie had been right all along. It ran in her family, after all…

Dropping the stack of papers down onto the table with a thud, she looked over to see an old orchard box that wasn't there this morning sitting on the table containing a vase of yellow carnations along with two dishes, covered in tinfoil. A note hung over the edge of the box with her name scrawled across the front in distinctive flowery handwriting.

Karen must have dropped by while she was out running her errands from hell, bless her. 

Joyce flipped the note over and read:

_Joyce —_

_I know there's nothing I can say or do to help with what you're going through right now, but just know that I'm here if you need anything._

_XO Karen_

Joyce winced. If Karen only knew what she was actually going through. There was no way she could ever tell her what had really happened that night at Starcourt, or anything from the last year and a half for that matter. Although it would be nice to have someone to talk to and Karen and Joyce had always been close…

Joyce shook her head as if banishing the thought and took the vase out to place it at the center of the table. She reached back into the box to lift the corner of the tinfoil to see what Karen had made her and the kids. 

Two pies: one peach and one cherry. 

Joyce's stomach growled at the sight, reminding her that she had been surviving on coffee and cigarettes alone for the last 24 hours. She grabbed the peach without a second thought and reached for a fork from the kitchen saver and didn't even bother with a plate, digging straight into the flakey latticed crust right at the center of the pie. It was still warm, and the heavenly scent of peaches and cream and butter made her forget her troubles for a split second. Joyce shoveled a forkful into her mouth, leaning against the counter with a sigh of relief. 

Karen's baking was the ultimate in comfort food. She had found that out after Will had gone missing the first time, and she had suddenly found herself drowning in a surplus of pies and cobblers. Peach just happened to be Hop's favorite, as Joyce very fondly recalled. Joyce's heart ached, and she savored each bite, only for him.

She brought the plate up close to her face as she stuffed more into her already full mouth, losing herself in the act, chasing her grief away for one brief moment and then another. Tears were threatening to fall, but she choked them back, focusing on the dessert instead. 

Every delicious bite was starting to taste bittersweet, but she couldn't stop, taking a small amount of comfort in stabbing the pie repeatedly and shoveling it in her face until she couldn't get another bite in her mouth. Dropping the fork in the sink, she began to pick at the crust with her hands, licking her fingers as she tore into the pie around the edge, not bothering to preserve the sanctity of the dessert anymore. The kids could have the other one; this one was just for her. 

When she finally forced herself to slow down, the pie was thoroughly destroyed; the pretty latticework caved in, missing most of the carefully pinched crust around the edges. Joyce pushed the plate across the counter, her stomach twisting at the sight. She grabbed a glass of water and sat down at the kitchen table, focusing on her breath to keep it all down.

Joyce looked at the mountain of paperwork spread out around her on the kitchen table, and her stomach lurched again. There was so much to read and act on, and she was only one person. Where was she even going to begin?

When the phone rang, it was a welcome distraction for once. She picked up the phone and held it to her ear without a thought to who could be on the other line.

"Hello?" 

"It's me." His voice was crystal clear. "You okay?"

Joyce sucked in a breath, panic and relief flooding her at the same time. 

"Oh, god. I am now. Is it really you? I thought I dreamt that phone call last night."

"Yes, Joyce," he sighed. "It's really me."

Joyce stammered, her brain finally catching up with what was happening. "They said there was no way you'd survive that blast. They looked everywhere, but I didn't know… oh God, I'm planning your goddamn funeral, Jim," she whispered.

"Shit," he sighed. "I'm sorry. I wanted to contact you sooner, but I didn't… Look, it doesn't matter now. Just keep on doing what you're doing. Stall the funeral if you have to. I'll be… home soon." He went quiet. "How's the kid?"

"She's doing good, but it's been a tough week. She misses you so much…. I miss you."

"I miss my girls too," he said lightly, though she could hear the sadness in his voice. Her heart skipped a beat at his words regardless. He sounded so close today, like he was just in another city, and not in another dimension. 

"How are you calling me right now?" she asked. 

She could hear him smile. "I'll be honest, I don't know, but I'm on the other end of your house line. I stole the idea from Will."

"You're… in my house?" she asked, even though she knew by now she shouldn't be surprised.

"Upside-down," he reminded her.

"Right." She paused, then asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be honest, I feel like shit like I have the flu or something, but Will survived here for a week. I survived two tours in 'Nam. I'll be fine," he said, his voice betraying him. 

"Hop," she said, her voice low with worry. 

"I know, Joyce," he said. "I know."

But she wasn't done her fretting just yet.

"Do you have enough food?" she asked.

"I've been scavenging."

"Tell me what happened? When you got there."

He paused, wondering what he could tell her, so she didn't worry too much. 

"Well, I woke up in a field outside of town, near where the old Starlite drive-in used to be," he said.

"Where they built Starcourt? The mall wasn't there?"

"No. The old movie screens were still there, though."

"Weird," Joyce said. Then she had a startling thought. _The gate was under there._

"Yeah, so I woke up, and there's a Russian scientist in a bio-suit with me, already dead, and footprints all around, so I don't think I'm alone here. I stole the suit and started walking back to town. Made it to your house, and I've been holed up here roughly 24 hours, except for my little adventure in town today."

"You say you just got there… But you've been gone five days already. No, six," Joyce corrected herself. "How can that be?"

"I don't know. Time is broken here," he offered an explanation. "And there's something not right about this place. Things are… shifting. Changing. I think El might've done some severe damage to it."

Joyce was quiet for a while before she asked, "Are you safe?"

There was a slight pause before he answered. 

"I think so. Haven't come across any of those dog-demon things yet."

"Demodogs," Joyce said, providing him with the kid's made up name for that horrid creature.

"Yeah," he huffed. "Them. Anyway, I pushed all the furniture against the door and windows, barricaded myself in. Should be locked up tight like Fort Knox now."

It was a relief to hear that. Joyce leaned back against the wall and sighed. 

"Hm, sounds cozy."

"It is now. Even built a fire pit in the living room."

Joyce felt a laugh escape her at the absurdity of the conversation they were having. "Jesus, Hop. Don't burn the place down."

"I won't, I promise," he said, and she could hear a bit of a tease in his voice. "I slept in your bed last night too, hope you don't mind."

"Well, make yourself right at home," she grinned at the somewhat normal thought before realizing what that meant. "Wait, so if you slept in my bed last night… Did you — I mean, did we…?" 

"Yeah," he breathed.

Joyce's heart stopped. "I thought it was a dream," she managed to squeak out.

Hopper grunted in agreement. 

"Felt like one to me. I was so out of it, I thought maybe I had a fever."

"I can't believe… oh no. No, no," Joyce shook her head and paused. "This is weird," she said.

"Yeah, it's up there for top 3 weirdest to happen to us," Hopper affirmed, trying to be funny.

Joyce wiped at the tear that rolled down her cheek and parted her lips so he wouldn't hear her cry. 

After a second, he spoke up, "Hey, no, don't cry."

Joyce froze.

"How did you know I was crying?"

Silence, before he confessed.

"Well, I can see you for one."

That got her attention. 

"What? How?" she asked, looking around her.

"Not sure, it only started last night, right before I called. We had uh, our shared dream, and then, I could just see you, like a… goddamn vision," he said, looking for the right words to explain it. "It's like the real world is bleeding through to here, but only when you're around."

"So you can see me all the time? Like… even when I was in the shower?"

"Hey, I was a gentleman! I gave you privacy!" he exclaimed. "But I did just watch you demolish an entire pie just now. Gotta say I'm proud. And jealous." 

Joyce chuckled. 

"But it's not all the time. You disappeared this morning completely after I called the first time — I'm assuming when the sun came up. For some reason, I can only make contact with you at night."

"Well, if you can see me, can you see El too? Have you tried communicating with her yet?"

"Yeah, I saw her sleeping in Will's room last night when you were walking around. But I only see her when she's near you or vice-versa."

"And?

"I can't seem to interact with her. But her powers are still gone, right?"

"That's what she told me."

"Must be something to do with you then… I don't—" Hopper mumbled, and Joyce strained to hear him. 

  


***

He was mid sentence when the house shook so hard all the dusty old pictures fell off the wall and smashed at his feet. He dropped the phone and covered his head from the falling debris, and when he looked up again, he found himself staring at the not-so-distant past versions of them in her living room, only a few years ago. 

"I need you to believe me." A frantic Joyce was pleading with him, begging him to tell her she wasn't crazy. That her son wasn't dead.

It was only a glimpse before it was gone, and he was snapped back to the present, upside down. 

"Hopper?" her voice was small, coming through the receiver dangling in his hand.

  


***

There was a heavy static on the line, and she spoke over it, afraid she was about to lose him. "Hopper?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"So you can see me? Right now? Where are you?" she asked, the line clearing up again.

"Sitting next to you, to your left."

She turned her body towards where he said he was and reached out into thin air. Sure enough, she could feel him, or something like him. Even though she couldn't see him, his presence was right next to her. Of course, there was no tangible proof, but there was a feeling deep down; it was him. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, tears came even harder now, her shoulders shaking. This wasn't real. It couldn't possibly be happening. Not again.

But then she felt a soft brush of fingers against her face and gasped, opening her eyes. 

Still, there was nothing but the empty hallway and her sitting on the floor. Hopper's finger traced her cheek and then pulled away. It was an odd sensation when he got close to her again, like a magnetic pull or the static electricity coming off the tv screen.

His hand cupped her cheek this time, and she closed her eyes once more, leaning into his touch, pressing her lips to his palm. It felt like she couldn't breathe. Like he was right there in the room with her.

"Hey, hey, no crying," he said, only this time his voice came through not only over the phone line but from all around her, in stereo. 

Joyce gasped and opened her eyes. 

"What? What's wrong?" he asked.

"I can hear you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

"Did the line cut out? Not the best connection," he chuckled at his own joke in surround sound. It was like he was sitting there next to her now, talking with her like usual. She looked around the room, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"No," she hissed, pushing herself up off the ground now, holding the phone away from her head and covering the mouthpiece with her hand, talking aloud into the empty room. "I can hear you… without the phone. In my head."

_Holy shit, I didn't mean to do that._

Hopper's voice echoed in her mind, and the effect reminded her of a real bad trip she had once, at a house party with Lonnie back in '66. She shook her head as if it might dislodge Hopper from between her ears.

"When we touched just now…" she trailed off, unable to comprehend what just happened. What was happening? As if it all wasn't all crazy enough. "Wait, can you hear my thoughts?" she asked gravely. "What song am I thinking about?"

_I Got You, Babe._

"Okay, you guessed that," Joyce rolled her eyes. "Seriously, what am I thinking about?" 

Hopper chuckled. 

_I don't know, Joyce. I can't hear your thoughts._

"Jim," she scolded. "This isn't funny."

_It's a little funny. Now you'll never be able to get rid of me!_

Hopper choked on his laughter, but Joyce was failing to see the humor.

"Why does this shit keep happening to us?" she grumbled, looking down at the useless phone now.

_Guess we're just lucky that way._

Joyce didn't have time to respond before the front door swung open, and a familiar voice called out.

"Mom, we're home!" 

Joyce scrambled to hang up the phone before the kids could question anything. The receiver smacked Hopper square in the chest, and he let out a groan.

_Woah, hey, I'm still standing here._

"Be quiet," she hissed over her shoulder at him, while she attempted to act normal as Will, Mike, and El rounded the corner — or whatever normal could possibly be at that point. Hopper's voice was in her head. He was apparently standing right next to her, too, though she couldn't see him. 

"Hey, guys!" Joyce's forced smile was almost a wince as she greeted the kids, pretty confident she was already busted. Will was watching her closely as she dashed about the kitchen to make herself look busy, tidying the mess of paperwork she had made earlier. 

"How was your day?" she asked in as cheerful a voice as she could muster.

"Fine. Are you okay?" Will asked, skeptical. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"There's ghosts now?" El asked, eyes wide as she turned to her boyfriend.

"It's a figure of speech," Mike explained, before turning back to Joyce. "You didn't actually see a ghost, did you, Mrs. Byers? Maybe we should call… the Ghostbusters?" he asked jokingly.

Papers flew off the table towards Mike, and Joyce could feel the breeze as Hopper flew by her to get to the teen.

_I'm not a ghost yet, you insensitive little shit!_

"Jesus," Joyce whispered under her breath, jumping at the gruff sound of Hopper's voice and the unexpected movement. 

She glanced at the kids, waiting for them to say something or react, but they didn't seem to notice the movement in the air. El was staring curiously at the papers on the ground, but both the boys were watching Joyce closely. She chuckled nervously, bending down to pick the documents up one by one. 

"No, no ghosts here."

"Who was on the phone?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow at his mother's behavior.

"Oh, no one. Just another reporter looking for an exclusive on what happened at the mall," Joyce waved her hand as if it were nothing. Bright and cheery. Absolutely nothing was wrong. 

"I told 'em to screw off. I don't know how they keep getting this number." 

"Okay," Will said hesitantly, keeping a close eye on her. "Jonathan said to tell you he won't be home until late tonight. He's with Nancy."

"Oh," Joyce said, her face falling slightly, before turning to Mike. "Are you staying for dinner?" 

"Sure," he shrugged. "I'll call my mom and let her know."

"Okay," Joyce nodded and then pointed to the table. "And thank her for the pies too."

"Pie?" El asked, looking where Joyce pointed, lighting up just barely for the first time in a few days. 

"After dinner," Joyce warned her. 

The kids meandered off to the living room, and the sound of the TV clicking on, and MTV in the background gave Joyce some much-needed privacy again with the invisible man following her around the room in silence. 

"What are we gonna do?" she asked in a hushed tone as she busied herself with the dishes leftover in the sink from that morning.

She heard Hopper sigh and felt him lean up against the counter next to her. 

_Same thing we always do. Figure this out as best we can._

"Should I call someone? Owens?"

_Not yet. I want to figure out what the hell is going on first before we bring in the big guns again._

"Well, what about Murray then?"

_I'm sure we can figure it out on our own. I'll let you know when it's time to call if we need him. I don't think I could stand another counseling session from Dr. Love right now. At least we can tell him we got it over and done with._

His voice was light, making a joke, but Joyce wasn't feeling amused.

"Do you really think that's a good idea? Keeping this to ourselves? You can't stay there forever, Hop. That place will kill you."

Hopper heaved a deep sigh.

_I know that. But I have the hazmat suit, and I've been here before. We don't need to panic just yet, it's not exactly the end of the world. Give it to the end of the week and if I can't find my way home… We can call in another favor from Murray or Owens if we have to. Until then, business as usual, okay?_

Joyce nodded relenting. 

_Did you see me move those papers? Maybe after dinner, we can experiment a little. See what else I can do…_

She felt his touch against her waist. Joyce shook her head and wrung out a cloth. 

_C'mon, Joyce. Might be kind of fun…_

"Fun for you, maybe," she muttered, ignoring the playfulness in his voice as she wiped the counters down. Of course he would be finding a perverse sense of joy in their predicament. 

"Did you say something, Mom?" Will said, walking by to grab sodas out of the fridge. 

Joyce nearly jumped out of her skin as her son walked by, completely unaware of the invisible man next to her.

"No, no, just… reading the recipe out loud. El likes pasta, right?" Joyce furrowed her brow, knowing the answer but trying her best to sidestep the fact that Will had caught her talking to Hopper.

"Yeah," Will nodded like she should already know that information.

_Yeah, the kid'll eat anything._ Hopper mumbled, chiming in.

Joyce smiled at her son. "Okay, tell Mike and El dinner will be ready soon."

Will nodded again, a funny look on his face as he cracked his soda and headed back to the living room.

  


***

Joyce let the kids talk over dinner while she sat and listened, not to them, but to the movement behind her in the kitchen. It was the strangest feeling knowing Hopper was in the room with them, only a few feet from where they were sitting, but they couldn't see him. 

The kids didn't seem to notice the movement, although once, he did brush up against some dishes that made them look towards where Joyce could feel him standing. Her heart jumped into her throat, but they just ignored the clatter and went back to their conversation.

Just knowing he was there was enough to relax Joyce and she started to envision how they could navigate this situation sight-unseen. As she was taking the last sip of her wine, she felt him blow softly into her ear, making her shiver and feel flushed. She waved him away inconspicuously with her hand, as if shooing a fly and smiled to herself, hiding it behind her glass.

  


***

After dinner was over and Mike had left, Joyce faked a few yawns and handed the remote over to Eleven before bidding her early goodnight. As she walked down the hallway to her bedroom, she told the shadow following her to give her a few minutes before knocking and closed the door in his face.


	9. *Chapter 9*

Joyce needed a moment alone. The sudden appearance of him made her excited and hopeful and way too nervous for her own good. She couldn't stop thinking of the dream from the night before, and as she got ready for bed, she found herself getting ready for him too. 

Just as she slipped on her housecoat, she could hear one quick knock on her door. She opened the door to let Hopper in and locked it behind them when she felt him breeze by. Then she turned the lights down before moving to the window to draw the curtains too.

"Okay. You wanted to experiment. Let's experiment," Joyce whispered into the dark of the room, listening for his reply. 

_Why don't you tell me what to do._

"Um, well," she tapped her chin, her eyes scanning the room for something to use. "Okay. Pick up my hairbrush."

She pointed across the room, and a few seconds later, he was flipping the hairbrush in the air for her to see.

_Ta-da._

As she watched the hairbrush levitating across the room from her, she could feel nervous laughter creep up from the pit of her stomach. Despite everything she had witnessed over the last few years, this was by far one of the strangest things she had ever experienced — hands down.

Hopper picked up a few more loose objects off her vanity, and suddenly she was watching scrunchies shoot across the room as Hopper used them like slingshots, bouncing them off the ceiling and walls. Her perfume bottle floated and spritzed the air. Objects dance around the room as Hopper rearranged it for her impulsively, happy to be able to interact with the real world again. It was like Joyce was witnessing a poltergeist, only a lot less horrifying than that movie she took Will to go see, if only because she knew the entity very well.

"Grab that box of tissues!" Joyce said, nodding to the other side of the room, feeling amused now by his antics. 

_Where? You have to move closer to it, so I can see it._

"Oh, um, here," she said, ignoring the slight annoyance in his voice and taking a few steps towards the box on her nightstand.

A few seconds later, the tissues were flying out of the box on their own, floating down like square snowflakes over the room. Joyce couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

"Okay, okay, you can knock it off now," she said, listening to him chuckle too. She cleared her throat and continued. "Sit down on the bed with me," she told him, her hand patting the spot next to her.

She felt the bed shift with his weight and looked to her side to see the mattress indent where he sat. Even though she couldn't see him, his presence was overwhelming as he sat close to her: the warmth of him. The sound of his voice. Faintest of notes of his aftershave mixed with the pheromones of his sweat. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she continued her instructions.

"Hold my hand," she said. Her palm turned upward on the bed, an open invitation.

There was a long pause. Hopper didn't say anything, but she could still hear him breathing, the sound echoing from the suit he was wearing, so she knew he was still in the room with her. There was a soft rustling from where he sat. When he did as she said, and reached out to hold her hand, the unseen touch sent a shock through her. He had taken off the gloves so that his bare fingers could interlock with hers, finding her in a familiar touch, tangible evidence he was really there. Hopper's thumb circled over the back of her hand, and she stared at the movement across the skin, almost unbelieving. If she stared hard enough, it was like she could practically see him flickering into existence, a hazy blue shadow of his outline. 

"Kiss me?" she asked.

Instantly, his touch retreated, and Joyce heard clicking and the hiss of the pressurized mask releasing. He didn't even think twice about it. A warmth approached her lips moments later. She gasped and closed her eyes, unable to process what was happening. Whiskers from an unkempt mustache tickled her nose and her stomach flipped as his lips made contact with hers. At first, it was soft, tentative as they explored the boundaries of their strange predicament. His hands reached up to cup her cheeks and pull her into his kiss. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to freak out at the fact that she couldn't see him.

Joyce wanted to touch him too, but she didn't know where, so she kept her hands in her lap, letting him lead. He ran his hands through her hair as they kissed, his tongue dancing against hers with a sweet fervor like this was it, and he might not get another chance.

The combination of his phantom kiss and the idea of what was happening made Joyce dizzy with want, a heat spread between her thighs. A sudden desire to see how far they could take this little experiment overcame her. She pulled away from him to catch her breath. His fingers were brushing against her cheeks, and he rested his forehead against hers. Her lips tingled, and her pulse echoed in her ears so loud that she was sure that Hopper could hear it too.

"Undress me," she murmured to him. 

_Joyce._

His voice dipped in response to her instructions, and in just one word, she could sense the serious tone he took on. She couldn't tell if he was saying her name out of a need for reassurance or in warning. Perhaps it was both.

"You heard me," she repeated her voice heavy with desire. She wasn't about to tell Hopper twice. She was done dancing around it. How much more did they have left to lose?

There was another long pause and then some more rustling, this time louder and more hurried than before. Then silence. 

The belt of her housecoat twitched and then ever so slowly started to undo itself out of its loose bow. The plush fabric was pushed down off her shoulders, and she shrugged it off the rest of the way, helping Hopper along, revealing her lithe body covered only in a nightgown. It was a slinky black satin number she had forgotten about for almost a year, folded up in the back of her underwear drawer. She had initially bought it to wear for Bob, but she never did work up the courage to wear it when he was still around. Bob didn't seem to show much interest in fancy lingerie though, and she felt a little silly after she bought it, realizing she had someone else in mind when she picked it out. While she was getting ready for bed, she decided to wear it for that someone else now -- her unexpected, unseen company.

_God, you're beautiful._ Hopper's voice echoed all around her. _If you only knew how much I've wanted this…_

"I'm just sorry it had to be like this," Joyce whispered to the empty room. Her voice broke with the weight of guilt she carried for being so careless with his heart. 

_Don't be, this is perfect. You look like a goddamn dream._

Joyce smiled at his words. His voice, even though detached, was still soothing, and any guilt she was hanging onto disappeared, replaced only by the warmth of him.

The satin nightie moved and slipped over her skin as his fingers trailed a path around the hem, tracing their way across her thighs. 

Joyce looked down at her body, where she could feel his hands running across bare skin and joined him, letting her hands explore too, admiring herself for the first time in a long while. She had kept her body hidden away under baggy jeans and old teeshirts for so long, content to give up entirely, that she almost forgot what she looked like when she did make an effort and the effect it had on men — especially Jim Hopper. After twenty years of their wavering friendship and the occasional side benefit or two, she knew that all she had to do was throw him a certain look to make him come running.

To think that Hopper was there with her, inches away but not really, touching her, needing her, made her even hotter, even if it was kind of strange. She imagined his reaction to seeing her like this since she couldn't see him for herself: his steely blue eyes would be tracing her lines, the black satin hugging her curves in all the right places. He would be watching closely as her hands wandered over her body, stopping to caress peaked nipples and her head tilting back in a silent moan when her own touch turned her on even more. As she fantasized about seeing his reaction, she could still feel his hand where it rested on her thigh. He had begun to move his hand up, softly squeezing as he went, keeping in constant contact until he found more satin. His thumb teased her, pressing soft circles over the damp fabric of her panties.

The sensation lit a fire in her belly, and she moved closer into his touch, a moan escaping her lips. He responded with a satisfied grunt, pushing the silken teddy up and around her hips. Fingers dug into her ass as he pushed her back onto the bed and pulled her closer to him in one swift move. 

Joyce gasped at the change of pace, but she wasn't about to fight it. After all, this was long overdue between them. 

His touch moved across her bare tummy, up and over the thin fabric to the curve of her breast, where his hands settled. 

Joyce's breath quickened, and she could hear Hopper's too. She didn't dare open her eyes, keeping them shut so she could stay focused on all the other sensations. His touch and his moans, the scent of him. The way he wrapped her up in his embrace, making her feel whole again, her whole body buzzing under the vibration of his touch.

Her nipples cast a stark shadow against the dark satin, and he pinched them, sending a surge straight to her core. His large hands cupped and kneaded her breasts, and she heard him moan. Hopper's presence was looming over her now, and she spread her legs in response, giving him permission to have his way with her, however possible. He grabbed her by the legs and pulled her down to the edge of the bed in one gruff movement, massaging the inside of her thighs and moving down ever so close, rough whiskers brushing against the delicate skin there. She sucked in a sharp breath, and her eyes shot open to see nothing between her quivering legs, and she squirmed under his otherworldly contact.

He pulled away from her then, his touch withdrawing for a brief moment while he freed himself of the hazmat suit. She could hear him undoing the straps and velcro, pushing it to the floor before she felt him back between her legs. Joyce giggled at the strange sensations he was causing and tossed her head back on the bed, enjoying the feeling of his rough beard and soft lips trailing kisses up her thigh to the matching black satin panties she wore. She was slick, ready for him, and when he pressed his lips to the soaked fabric, she bit her bottom lip, already worried she might come too soon if they weren't careful. Joyce steadied her breath, focusing on slowing down as he began kissing her through the fabric. After a moment, she couldn't help it, and her hips moved in time with his tongue until she was dripping for him. 

She could feel him moving her panties out of the way now, and his tongue traced her outline and dipped in to taste her. She forgot how much she liked that little flutter-thing he did with his tongue, and she felt her juices flow more, which he lapped up readily. A hand cupped tight on the curve of her ass, pulling her closer to him while he went down on her. The constant contact with his mouth made her ache, and she longed to feel him inside of her again, just like last night, but this time she wanted to savor it.

Joyce moaned and, with eyes still closed, instinctively reached down to touch him, finding him nestled between her legs. She opened her eyes and looked down when she felt his hair running through her fingers, but there was nothing there. She squeezed her thighs around Hopper's head as he found her sweet spot, bringing her to the edge, and suddenly he came into view, just barely there, like a hologram. His eyes were closed, mouth pressed to her pussy like he needed it to breathe, clutching at her hip with one hand and slowly stroking his rock hard shaft with the other. The spectral sight of him eating her out made her climax instantly.

"Oh my god, Hopper," she gasped and bit her bottom lip to keep from being too loud. She couldn't believe what she was witnessing. Hopper flickered in and out of existence right in front of her like a flame in the wind while she rode her orgasm out against his mouth. It was intense, making her whole body shake underneath him. 

Once the waves of pleasure subsided, she pushed herself up on her elbows to really get a good look at him now. Their ragged breaths hitched as they locked eyes, and he realized it, too.

"You can see me?" Hopper asked.

She nodded, not quite believing what she was seeing. 

He was emitting a faint blue-green glow, almost floating in front of her, like what she imagined a ghost would look like. But yet, it was like he was right there. She could see him, hear him, feel him, taste him. He stood up and watched her intently, stroking his cock, with a love-drunk smile on his lips.

Joyce pushed herself up onto her knees on the bed in front of him, and wrapped her lips around his cock, taking him in her mouth.

"Oh fuck," he moaned and tried not to buck his hips. His hands threaded through Joyce's hair and he caressed her cheek, guiding her gently as he watched her suck him off. "You and that mouth of yours."

Joyce popped him out of her mouth with a cheeky smile. "Miss me?"

Hopper continued to stroke his cock and pushed her back to the bed. "More than you know."

He entered her slowly, so they could savor every sensation. Joyce gasped, and he moaned in her ear. It felt incredible, and nothing like what they remembered. Better… if that was even possible. He pumped his hips as she wrapped her legs around his middle. This wasn't going to last very long. 

All Joyce had to say was his name as she climaxed again, and he barely had time to think before he was coming too, holding her like he would never let her go.

They were breathing heavy, his forehead pressed to hers when they heard the TV turn off and footsteps making their way down the hall.

"Shit! I hope they didn't hear," she whispered, hiding her face with her hands. 

"You were quiet enough. But it's a little hard to sneak around here when they're home all night," Hopper said, leaning down to whisper in her ear. 

Joyce nodded in agreement, still covering her eyes with her hand. 

Then he had a brilliant idea. 

"Meet me at my old trailer tomorrow night at 8pm."


	10. Chapter 10

The next day, Joyce busied herself with housework and errands to distract herself until nightfall. She tried hard to focus on each of the menial tasks, but her brain betrayed her, continually playing a repeat of the evening before every time her mind wandered. Brief flashes of skin and tongues and pleasure. The way he held her or the way he looked into her eyes as they made love. No one had ever looked at her the way Jim Hopper looked at her.

 _Fuck_. There was no going back now, was there?

After Lonnie, and after Bob, Joyce didn’t know if she was ready to be in love again, but now with Hopper, it felt like it had been meant to be all along. Their love was built on shaky foundations; years of shared history and trauma - yet he was the most stable thing in her life. Her one true constant. Even at their worst, she knew deep down that Hopper would always be around. Joyce felt the pull of a mad runaway now, speeding downhill towards feelings she thought were long gone, and it excited but frightened her all the same.

She couldn’t fall in love with him, not right now. What if he didn’t come back? She couldn’t face her feelings knowing the longer they waited, the greater the chance she would lose him again. Panic crept up, and before she realized what she was doing, she had dialed Murray’s phone number.

  


***

By the time she arrived at Hopper’s old trailer that evening, Joyce had briefly debated telling him that she had called Murray, but decided against it. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, after all.

Murray wasn’t home anyway. His voicemail was a monotone mumble saying something like he was going to be on the road for a while to mourn the loss of a friend and wouldn’t be checking messages regularly, but she left him one anyway.

Walking up the steps to Hopper’s old mobile home and letting herself in, she wondered if she did the right thing.

_“Murray, it’s Joyce. I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it: He’s not dead. I’m talking with him and… He called me from inside my house. He’s trapped in that place… Look, I know you’re not checking messages right now, but if you do check and you happen to hear this, I really need your help. Call me back.”_

Joyce flicked the lights on.

The trailer was practically empty, save for the old tattered couch left sitting next to the wood stove, a few knick-knacks forgotten and years worth of dust lingering in the air. Joyce walked around the living room and into the kitchen, the memory of the place coming back to her slowly as she skipped her fingers along the countertop.

Long talks and cigarettes by the wood stove, a shared joint on the deck overlooking the lake. Tangled up in his bed, in his arms. Those short, few days, years ago, when she tried outrunning her past, just before it caught up to her and shit hit the fan with Lonnie… the memories all came rushing back.

Joyce’s heart fell. If only they could go back, there were so many things she would’ve changed.

Hopper’s old antique radio, his grandfather’s prized Crosley, was still in its same spot in the living room — too heavy and delicate to move to the cabin, which was probably the only reason it was left behind. Joyce plugged it in and turned the dials over, watching the lights stammer as electricity brought it back to life. The static hum buzzed the speakers as she dialed in a station. She needed something kill the silence and drown out her thoughts in the simplest way she knew how. When the oldies station crackled into existence, she turned it up and got to work.

 _“You’re listening to WAWK — the Hawk. 1140 on your radio dial. Spinning all the classic hits of yesteryear. As we say goodbye to another beautiful Indiana summer’s day, let’s listen to one of my favorites, and I’m sure one of yours, too. It’s_ Twilight Time _by the Platters…”_

Joyce smiled at the radio and hummed along. She opened the windows, letting the fresh breeze filter in through the single-wide, airing it out, before giving everything a good wipe down. When she was satisfied she had eliminated all the rampant dust bunnies, she built a fire, just a small one, in the stove from a stack of wood leftover from whenever Hopper had been here last in the flesh.

She glanced out the patio door to see an orange sun getting ready to set against a violent violet horizon over the lake in the back — almost picture-perfect, and she wished she could’ve appreciated it more under any other circumstances.

It was almost eight, now. Hopper would be here any minute.

_“...I count the moments, darling, ’til you’re here with me_

_Together, at last, at twilight time…”_

Joyce wandered down the hall, checking out the rooms as she went, remembering which door was which. First, there was the bathroom, with it’s sad yellow and brown tiles, in desperate need of an update. Next was a small, empty spare room barely big enough to be called that, and at the end of the hall was his old bedroom. She pushed the door open, and the sight of a bare mattress on the floor greeted her and she wondered if it was like that on his side of reality too. Maybe he had left it that way on purpose, just like the survival box he had hidden at the cabin. A pair of plain cotton sheets and an old quilt were buried in the closet, and she put them on the mattress anyway, just in case it did show up for him over there. This could be another way-point for him, another safe space on the other side.

_“Here, in the afterglow of day_

_We keep our rendezvous beneath the blue…”_

In the kitchen, feeling a sharp pang of hunger, she looked in the cupboards to see what was left for food. With everything going on, she realized she’d forgotten to eat lunch that morning. Breakfast too, come to think of it.

Much to her utter non-surprise, the cupboards were bare, save for a can of sardines, a bottle of Mrs. Butterworths, and a jar of instant coffee in the lazy-susan. The fridge was completely empty too, and the freezer didn’t fare much better. All that was left was a crumpled half-eaten box of Eggos, likely leftover when he was still searching for El last year. Joyce scrunched her nose but reached for the box anyway. It was better than nothing.

_“Each day, I pray for evening just to be with you_

_Together, at last, at twilight time…”_

As she heated up waffles on a cast iron pan, she mindlessly sung along to the end of the tune. When she had drowned the Eggos in syrup and was eating them out of the pan over the stovetop, she wondered what was taking him so long. Her watch showed 8:08 pm, the sun had disappeared now, and darkness was creeping in.

The last forkful of freezer burnt Eggo waffles smothered in maple syrup was perched at her mouth when the radio screeched and a deafening hum emitted from the speaker. Joyce looked up at the infernal sound as Hopper popped into the room across from where she stood. She dropped the pan, and it clattered to the floor.

“Jesus, Hop!”

The radio tuned back in over the static, The Flamingos continuing from where they left off. Joyce caught her breath as she watched Hopper materialize in front of her. His image seemed stronger now than it had last night. Less hazy, more bright and lifelike.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he said as casually as could be, as if he didn’t just appear out of nowhere. “I got caught up in town. Got some more supplies and rations.”

He turned the flashlight on his shoulder off and popped open the mask with a sigh. Then he dropped the bag he was carrying and took off the hazmat suit, letting the neoprene drop to his feet before stepping out of it and walking over to Joyce. She watched in amazement as the suit and bag disappeared out of sight the second he stopped touching the material.

He looked like something out of a movie in the dim light of the evening. His specter-form leaned down, and Joyce closed her eyes as he neared, feeling his lips brush against hers. She half expected his kiss to feel cold or distant, but instead, she felt his warmth and the weight of his body pressed against her.

She relaxed into his arms. He was still here.

“How are you?” he asked, pulling away to get a good look at her. She noticed every time he did that now, it was like he was looking at her in an entirely new light.

“Better, now you’re here,” she shrugged, looking around. “It’s weird seeing this place again. I felt like a ghost walking around here by myself.”

“I know what you mean,“ he nodded, following her gaze to look around a house he never really called his home. “If the cabin wasn’t fucked, I would’ve said to meet there.”

“If the cabin wasn’t fucked, I wouldn’t be able to get El to leave,” Joyce joked, but Hopper only frowned. “We’ll fix it up.” She smiled weakly and leaned against the counter. “Soon.”

“Soon,” he repeated solemnly.

“How’s the kid doing anyway?”

Joyce shrugged. “As best as she can be considering… I let them have a sleepover with their friends at the house tonight while I’m gone. Told them I was staying with an old friend.”

Hopper looked like he had been electrocuted by her words.

“You let her _sleepover_ with the boys?”

“Oh relax. Max is there too, and Nancy and Jonathan are staying home to supervise. It’s fine, Hop, really.” Joyce leveled her eyes on him, warning him not to get worked up over it or there’d be trouble.

Hopper only glowered instead.

“What’s the time?” He asked gruffly, looking at the Casio on his wrist.

“8:10,” Joyce replied, glancing at hers.

He set the time with a nod.

“This damn thing can’t keep time here,” he said, flicking the watch face as if that would help.

Joyce nodded too before she asked, “Did you find anything new today?”

He got a worried look on his face for a moment, just long enough for her to notice, before he shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, not taking his eyes off her. “Nothing major to report. Just a few broken windows down at the Outfitter supply. Oh, and I got into the gun locker at the PD, so I’m armed to the teeth now.” He gestured behind him, somewhere she couldn’t see.

Joyce frowned. “Broken windows?”

“All the hunting and camping gear was raided before I could get to it… I think there’s someone else here with me.”

“Hunting?” Joyce squeaked.

Hopper pulled out a box of cookies from his backpack and tore into them, shoving one in his mouth. “I think it might be the Hargrove kid. What’s his name? Max’s older brother? Bobby?”

“Billy—”

“Billy Hargrove. I’m sure I’ve seen him around here a few times now, but he won’t let me get close.”

“They said he died in the fire, too,” Joyce said before her face fell. “You’re gonna try to save him, aren’t you?” She was trying to be brave, trying not to be upset with him, but she knew he couldn’t help it. Hopper was a fixer, a do-er, a helper. It was only in his nature.

Hopper finally dragged his eyes away from her, unwilling to say and shoving another cookie into his mouth to bide his time. She waited for his reply, but when there was none, she filled in the awkward silence, changing the topic.

“Enjoying your cookies?”

Hopper smiled through a mouthful of Chips Ahoy! “Oh, yeah,” he rolled his eyes as if it was the best thing he’d ever put in his mouth. Even though they were hard and stale, it was the best thing he’d tasted since he went on the trapped-in-a-hell-dimension diet. “What’s with the fire?” he asked, looking over to the woodstove.

Joyce shrugged. “I was chilly.”

Hopper brushed the crumbs off his hands, not that it really mattered. “C’ mere,” he said and pulled her into his arms. “I’ll keep you warm.”

Joyce wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes, pretending for a sweet moment that everything was normal. “I cleaned up the place a bit while I was waiting for you,” she mumbled into his chest.

Hopper nodded, “I see that.”

“I thought maybe this could be our rendezvous spot until we figure out a way to get you home.”

“Just like old times, huh?” he chuckled down at her. It was easy to tell what was on his mind. Again.

Joyce shoved off of him, smirking, and bent down to clean up the leftovers of her “dinner” off the floor and into the trash bin.

The DJ on the radio interrupted to agree with Hop’s statement.

_“Here’s a trip down memory lane for all you lovers out there listening tonight. Released this month, twenty years ago. Ain’t it funny how the time flies? The Righteous Brother’s Unchained Melody…”_

Joyce and Hopper froze. Their eyes met when the first few notes of the familiar tune filtered out through the speaker, and both smiled, a shared memory coming back to them, each on their own.

“Just like old times,” Joyce echoed and extended her hand out to Hopper. “Dance with me?”

“Hmm, I dunno,” he shrugged, staring at her open palm with an amused look on his face. “My card’s pretty full.”

Joyce pursed her lips playfully and reached for him once more. Her brain was still having trouble contemplating how he could be here right now. She half expected her touch to go straight through him, but it didn’t. Her hand landed on his bicep, and she squeezed it just to make sure he was real. He chuckled and flexed for her before grabbing her hand like she intended.

Joyce guided Hopper to the patio door, and they stepped outside, leaving the door open, the music trailing out behind them. In the dark of night, Hopper seemed to come into full view right in front of her eyes, pulling her into a lazy waltz on the deck overlooking the lake.

“There’s no moon tonight,” she murmured, looking up at the sky and then back at him in awe. She had never seen so many stars, and she’d never seen anything like him before. He was blue-green luminescence, practically celestial himself. She reached up to cup his cheek and pull him down to her so she could really study him, his features glowing in the dark.

“You’re so… pretty.”

“Thanks,” Hopper snorted and then smiled, sincere. “You’re real pretty, too.”

Joyce blushed.

“What did you do today?” he asked.

“Uh, well…”

“What?”

Her eyes darted around him before she finally looked up and met his gaze. “I picked out your headstone today.”

Hopper nodded slowly. “Government’s paying?”

“Mhm,” she leaned into him, her cheek pressing into his chest and closed her eyes.

“I hope it was the most expensive one there.”

“Oh, it was,” she stifled a laugh. “I went for the upright granite. It’s tall and obnoxious, just like you.”

Hopper chuckled and squeezed her tight in his arms.

Then she added, more somber: “The guys at the station want to give you the three-volley salute.”

“Aw, I’m touched. They really do care.”

Joyce looked up at him, his ghostly visage twinkling under the stars. “But all of this is irrelevant.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re gonna be home before then.”

Hopper didn’t say anything, pulling her into him as they swayed to the music under the stars. He gazed out over the lake, or what was left of it in the upside-down, and held her close. 

  


***

“Hey,” Joyce said, nudging him to catch his attention.

They were leaning up against the railing, smoking and staring out at their own versions Pigeon Pond in perfect silence, just taking comfort in each other’s quiet company.

“Hey,” he replied, taking a long pull of his cigarette. His form flickered when he exhaled, creating a spectral-like effect in the smoke.

Joyce looked at him like she wanted to say something, or throw up -- he couldn’t tell. He raised his eyebrows, prompting her.

Her cheeks flushed.

“I love you,” she breathed. “I couldn’t tell you before, but it’s true and has been for a long time. Even when I hated you, I still loved you,” she paused and shrugged. “I just thought you should know...”

Hopper’s smile was evident behind his bushy mustache, and he reached around her, pulling her close. “Just remember that, ’cause I’ll be back, and I’m gonna need you to say it again.”

Joyce stood a little taller then, grinning up at him. Just for a moment, and without skipping time, he saw a glimpse of a girl he once knew back in 1965.

  


* * *

“What would you do if you could go back in time?”

Later that night, after they had made love into the early morning hours, Hopper asked her the question that had been weighing on him. He was slowly drawing circles on her bare back, looking up at the ceiling of the trailer, when he remembered a time when they had laid exactly here before and had a similar conversation, years ago.

“What do you mean?” Joyce raised her head off his chest to look at him, puzzled. “Like time travel?”

“Yeah. If you could go back in time, what would you change? Or would you change anything?”

Joyce looked skeptical at first, and then thought about it. “If it meant not having my boys… then, nothing.”

“Even if you could save them from all this?” Hopper asked.

“If it meant my boys didn’t exist? Do you even know me at all, Jim Hopper?” She raised her eyebrows at him, challenging. “If you could go back in time to save her, would you?”

She didn’t have to say her name. He knew she meant Sara.

Hopper paused. “To save her the suffering… I think I would.”

“Really?” Joyce didn’t expect that answer from him.

Guilt twisted up his face. “I once told Diane that even after everything, I didn’t regret our years together, but looking back at it now… If I had the chance, I would go back and call it off before it even got started. If I never rushed into things with Diane, I don’t think we would’ve had Sara. Then she wouldn’t have had to suffer. Diane wouldn’t have to suffer.”

“Or you,” Joyce said.

Hopper nodded but wouldn’t meet her eyes. Joyce smiled sadly to herself.

“‘Would've been best for all of us…”

“What do you mean?” he looked down at her now, a curious look on his face.

Joyce froze in his arms, but then leaned back into him. “Nothing. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore,” she said, covering her face. “I’m so exhausted.”

“Me too.” Hopper squeezed his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, listening to the sounds of the trailer settling, and he waited for sleep, and the sun to take him away again. 

  


  


* * *

She woke up still in his embrace. He was awake too, and he looked down at her when she stirred.

“Mmm, what time is it?” she mumbled, taking a deep breath and sinking deeper into him, knowing they were on borrowed time.

He checked his watch, pushing the button to make it glow in the dark. The bright green reflected off of him like neon.

“Quarter to five,” he sighed. “I can’t sleep. Sun’ll be up soon.”

Joyce was quiet, listening to his heartbeat hum like an electric current under her ear, before she broke the silence of early morning twilight.

“Hop?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me something?”

“Hm?”

“If you find another gate over there, you’ll go through and come home right away? No heroics. No messing around.”

She glanced up to look into his bright blue eyes, only to find him already fading away.

“No messing around,” he repeated. After a moment, he added. “Promise me something too.”

“What?”

“If something happens to me, and I don’t make it out of here…” he couldn’t finish that thought seeing the way Joyce’s face fell.

Her brows knitted, and she nodded, pressing her lips to his.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he mumbled into her kiss as they broke apart.

Joyce smiled sleepily and snuggled into his embrace, kissing his arm that was wrapped around her tight. _Goodnight, sweetheart._

  


* * *

When Joyce woke again to sunlight streaming into the empty room, she woke alone and with a fiery sense of determination that burned through her.

She couldn't wait another day longer for Hopper to come home. 


	11. Chapter 11

  


The Upside Down had evolved into something more and more volatile as the days went on. The Mind Flayer was not happy, wreaking havoc on the world it had created for itself, ripping through time and space. Hopper wasn't sure when It would strike again — he couldn't pattern it, but he knew the frequency of the time hops were increasing.

When he dwelled on the past, it only seemed to make it worse and it was a struggle to stay present, especially when he slept. He was time travelling a dozen times a day or more. Sometimes he’d be gone for only a few seconds, other times he’d be gone for an hour before the Mind Flayer sucked him back to his present, as if no time passed at all.

Staying present worked for a short while, but soon he realized, if he didn't think about the past at all, It started to pick a time for him and then he had no choice in the matter.

Sometimes he'd blink and find himself in the late 70s, stumbling his way through his new role as Hawkins Chief of Police, fighting an addiction to numbing his pain. Watching his worst years on repeat.

Other times he would be walking down a side street in Hawkins and suddenly see the childhood version himself running around town in the 50s.

It seemed like the time hops were bleeding through to this world too, with old Victorian buildings he hadn’t seen before showing up at random times, flickering into existance one day, before disappearing the next.

The warnings before the hops were getting less obvious too. Only rolling tremors we're present with the last few before he ended up in another time. In fact, he had almost slept through one that morning, after he said goodbye to Joyce. When their worlds parted, while he was still asleep, the world shifted for only a moment. It jostled him and he woke on the floor in an old Victorian home,inadvertently scaring a frail looking woman to death (a woman who looked alarmingly like Joyce) before he was back in the bed, in his trailer, in the Upside Down.

What exactly was the Mind Flayer trying to show him?Why would it be sending him to random times across his life and beyond? And how was it possible that he could pick the time if he just thought about it? The whole thing twisted his mind like taffy and filled his bones with dread.

What if he couldn't stop the time hops? What if the next one lasted forever? Would he ever get home?

Thankfully, it only happened that one time when he was with Joyce, and only for a split second. Hopper didn't even know what he would say to her if he just randomly disappeared during one of their meetings, but she wouldn’t take it well, he knew that much. Joyce had enough on her plate anyway, so Hopper resolved not to tell her.

When Hopper couldn’t see Joyce during the day, and between looking for his escape and the Hargrove kid, he practiced catching the time hops at just the right moment. If he was at a certain place in Hawkins as it happened, he could sometimes relive a moment in his past that he remembered vividly, like his 10th birthday party at Memorial park, or the night he subbed for Benny and his broken arm in the last varsity football game of junior year. He also found that if he was thinking of Joyce when the time hop happened, the Mind Flayer would just choose a time for him, whenever Joyce was in that exact same spot he was standing in.

And that is how he ended up standing in front of the Electronics store on Main Street, in the summer 1968, watching a crowd surrounding the window as the TV display showed news footage, live and in technicolor from the other side of the world. He had stopped to take the suit’s mask off to check the respirator when it happened and when he looked up, he found himself in the past.

Just like always, he walked like a ghost through the crowd. There wasn’t a single witness to the time traveller walking amongst them, looking worse for wear in half a hazmat suit.

The people of Hawkins had never seen such grisly footage before and it stopped everyone in their tracks, even the old Veterans themselves, grandmas and mothers with children. Some people cried out in horror, while other’s shouted their support for the troops. A young teen stepped forward to yell _“Fuck Johnson!”_ and started a chant with his hooligan friends. Someone else threw a full Coke bottle at the window of the store, cracking the heavy pane and splattering everyone watching with sticky soda.

One mother held her baby on her hip, letting the boy suck on her finger as she watched the wall of TV screens in horror. Her face was white as a sheet and her eyes went wide at the ghastly images of war. Behind a long dark curtain of curls, Hopper could see she was crying, but never took her eyes off the screens, even with the commotion forming next to her in the street.

A blonde pushing a pram leaned over and squeezed the brunette’s arm.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” she said to her friend.

That was when Hopper recognized the two women… and their babies. He took a step back in the chaos and hid behind a newsstand so she didn’t see him — the only person who could.

Joyce was sobbing now and then baby Jonathan started to cry too, so she quickly bounced him on her hip, shifting him to the other side, before nodding to Karen. He could just barely hear them as they passed by his hiding spot, escaping the street as a fight broke out, but she sounded distraught.

“I can’t stop thinking of him, Kare — it’s killing me knowing he’s over there in that goddamn mess.”

“I thought you said you didn’t care anymore, not after…” Karen started to ask.

Joyce shook her head at her friend.

“I still love him,” she winced. “Please, don’t tell Lonnie.”

Hopper watched her cross the street, and fought the urge to go after her, tell her everything would be fine and that he wasn’t even in ’Nam anymore by then… but what was the point? Even if she could see him, it would only serve to scare her, or worse, drive her insane.

It killed Hopper to see her like this though. He never knew how much he had hurt her by dropping off the face of the planet when he got discharged and to see the damage now, in person… He didn’t even bother tell her that he was already back in the States before the worst of the Tet Offensive for chrissakes.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid Jim._

Now he was getting frustrated. What was the hell was the point of all of this? He kicked the garbage can next to him, spilling its contents on the sidewalk. Baffled bystanders stopped watching the commotion in front of the Electronics store to watch the garbage can roll by itself across the sidewalk as an Invisible Hopper kicked it again and cursed. Why did he keep coming back to her again and again? Unless…

There was a newstand on the corner and he walked over to it, scanning the newspapers for a date — August 25th, 1968.

Past Hopper would’ve been in Los Angeles at the time, hunkering down at his uncle’s house in Venice Beach and coming down from the highs of war. He had planned on coming home to Hawkins but when he heard that Joyce had wasted no time marrying Lonnie and starting a family, his plans had changed and he didn’t bother letting her know. Why would he, when it was his fault she was with Lonnie anyway? Past Hopper spent 1968 exploring the underbelly of the city of Angels instead, drinking his problems away, sleeping with as many psychedelic chicks from Laurel Canyon as he could manage before he met Diane and moved on to New York, Woodstock and all the far-out things 1969 brought with it.

His conversation with Joyce from the previous night reverberated through his head.

Past Joyce was long gone now and he was still standing on Main street on a normal summer day in Hawkins, seventeen years ago. Hopper was waiting for the world to shift again… any minute now.

It was looking like this would be a bit longer than the other time skips when his eyes fell on it: the newsstand had stationary, envelopes and rolls of stamps. He stole them and a pen from the pocket of the newsboy, too. 

Hopper didn’t doddle as he wrote the three letters. He wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance and he didn’t want to waste this one in case it did work.

For the first letter, he wrote to Joyce as if he were Past Hopper writing from California. He scribbled a quick note saying he was sorry for the radio-silence and he was coming home to see her soon and would explain everything. Hopefully she wouldn’t look too closely at the postmark to notice where it was actually sent from. 

The second was written to himself at his Uncle’s address in Venice Beach, an easy one to remember: Box 123 Indiana Ave, Venice Beach CA 90291 _._ This time, he forged his father’s boxy handwriting that he had perfected in high school signing report cards and sick notes:

_“Time to come home, son. Your mother misses you.”_

That was all he wrote, knowing it was enough to make Past Hopper obey orders from his dear old Dad.

The final letter took longer than the last two combined. It was hastily addressed to a Miss Teresa Ives of Indiana University, Bloomington. He didn’t have her exact address but he hoped the post office could figure it out for him.

He didn’t sign the anonymous note, but he made his warning very clear. Her life and her future child’s life depended on it.

“ _Stay away from Hawkins National Lab and Dr. Martin Brenner.”_

__

He hoped it would all be enough as he sealed up the letters and dropped them in the nearest mailbox, just as the Upside Down started to slide back into his view.


	12. Chapter 12

The next night snuck up on Joyce after a dizzying day, and she didn't realize she was late to meet Hopper until Jonathan called to say he was leaving Nancy’s to go pick Will and El up, and they would be home in a bit. Joyce was distracted, mulling over what she would tell Hopper about her day, not wanting to spill the whole truth on what she had gotten up to that afternoon.

He didn't _need_ to know she had broke in and snooped around the condemned Mall, looking for an easy entrance into the tunnels, or that she had almost got caught by two burly looking security guards who looked like they could snap her neck on command, but she could tell him the rest. She could admit the plan was half-baked, but if she could just find her way back down to the gate under the Mall, maybe she could try to get the keys to work again, reverse whatever it was she did to close the gate. Maybe she could get him back on her own.

But after what she saw, her hope was dwindling fast and frustration was taking its place.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Hopper said with a smile, standing up to greet her as she got out of the Pinto.

He looked different today. Not as bright or opaque as the night before. Tonight, he was almost see-through, looking like he could fade away any minute. His cheeks were starting to hollow out from eating rations the past few days, and his eyes had heavy, dark circles around them. The sight distressed her more than she cared to admit.

"Please tell me that smile means you found something," Joyce said.

Hopper shook his head. "Nope, just happy to see my girl." He held his arms out to embrace her when she approached, but instead of the kiss he was expecting, she captured his hands in hers and held them to her heart.

"We need to talk."

Hopper dropped his hands after a pause and took a step back. "Okay, let's talk," he drew the words out, looking at her funny. "What's new?"

"What's new?" Joyce echoed. "Nothing. Nothing is new, because you won't let me do anything to help, remember?" she said curtly.

"You're helping," he told her, running a hand through messy hair and down over the scruff on his cheeks. "You're keeping me company. And you're watching El and keeping her out of trouble. She doesn't need to know about any of this."

He was kind of right. Getting a headstrong and upset Eleven involved now would only serve to complicate things even more, put her in danger, and in the very worst-case scenario, it would force the poor girl to lose her dad all over again. Joyce didn't want to put El through all that if she could help it, so it was just easier to keep their little rendezvous private for now. Joyce still felt guilty, of course. She was so focused on Hopper, she had barely seen El or her boys for the last three days.

"I don't know how much I'm really helping though… you know I could be on the phone with Owens within the hour if you'd just let me-"

"How about you let me do what I'm doing without being a backseat driver for once?" Hopper snapped and then softened when he saw the hurt in her face. Then, he lowered himself to be at eye level with her and brushed her hair behind her ear. "Look, I'm frustrated too, but I don't need you putting yourself in danger. Your priority is your family, and mine. I will be home soon, I promise." He took a deep breath before he continued, gesturing between the two of them. "I want this, Joyce. I want us to work, and I know you do too, but you're scared, right? I’m scared too. But I really think we might finally get it right this time. You know I love you. "

Joyce bristled at his words. She still wasn't used to this new Hopper, so open and intimate with his feelings, and she didn't know how not to be on guard with him anymore.

"I know," she frowned. Joyce wanted to tell Hopper that she loved him too, but she couldn't bring herself to form the words like she did last night, not until he was home again. It was just easier this way.

Hopper reached out to caress her cheek, a disappointed look on his face though he tried to hide it. Then he leaned in to kiss her and Joyce let him, but she couldn't enjoy it.

She was beginning to wonder if she was the only sane one between the two of them, and she couldn't keep acting like everything was normal. Not when she was having an impetuous love affair with the invisible man. And trying to take care of his psionic daughter. And keep him a secret… all while his fate hung in the balance.

Her hands flew to his chest, and she pulled away from their kiss.

"No! We can’t, Hop," she snapped, though she didn't mean to. "We shouldn't be doing… _this_. Not right now. Not until we figure out how to get you home safe. Anything else before then is a distraction. Can't you see that?"

"And what more could we be doing right now?" He threw his hands in the air, exasperated with her now.

Joyce rolled her eyes before giving him the obvious answers.

"I could be out there, looking for a gate on this side while you look on your side? Or, God forbid, asking someone for help! You might have to come to terms with the fact that you can't handle this all on your own." Her words cut, and she didn't bother to hide the upset in her voice. If intimacy with Joyce was what Hopper wanted, it was what he was getting -- Just not the way he had hoped.

Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose, raising his voice. "Oh yes, please, let's keep going in circles! I know what I'm doing here, Joyce. You don't have to question--"

"Question?" Joyce interrupted, voice matching his, shout for shout. "Oh, I'm beyond questioning. I'm wondering if you lost your goddamned mind. I can't for the life of me figure out why you're wasting any more time there," she said, even though she knew precisely why he was stalling. Hopper wasn't just looking for gates, he was on a rescue mission.

"Look, there's stuff about this place that I don't tell you because I don't want you to know. I'm protecting you for your own good. Can't you see that?" He threw her words back at her.

"You're protecting me?" Joyce's face twisted, and she raised her hands in the air like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "By leaving me here by myself to deal with this circus while you run around over there playing hero by day and house with me at night?"

Hopper didn't say anything, but Joyce didn't let that stop her. She was finally getting through to him.

"Those people are gone, Hop. You're not. Yet."

"You don't know that. You're not here," Hopper growled. "The Hargrove kid. He's still in there, Joyce. He's in bad shape, but he's still alive. And if there's a chance I can save him, then I'm going to take it."

"You'd put his life ahead of your own? Ahead of your daughter's? She needs you, Jim. How the hell am I supposed to protect her by myself?"

"That's what this is about?" Hopper asked, deflecting. "Eleven? You scared of her or something?"

"No! It's not _her_ that I'm scared of."

"Come on, Joyce. She doesn't even have powers anymore. Dead battery, remember? No one is coming after her. I got Owens' word."

"That agreement was with you. Not me." She pointed at him.

He rolled his eyes.

"And what a great job I'm doing protecting her,” she continued, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Skulking around here with you every night. I've barely seen her or the boys since you showed up."

Hopper scowled.

"What do you mean you've barely seen her? I thought she was staying with you."

"She is," Joyce said, exasperated. "But it's not like I can keep my eye on her when you're here. And she's usually gone with Will to visit Mike by the time I wake up. I'm not going to lock her up in the house when I’m not around."

"Why the hell not?"

It was Joyce's turn to scowl.

"That's not how you raise a young woman. Or anyone for that matter."

"So what, you've just been letting her run wild around town with the Wheeler kid?"

"She needs him right now, Jim. Just… let it be. Please."

"Oh, that's just great, good parenting." Hopper cracked his knuckles in frustration. "She better not get knocked up by that little--"

"Jesus Christ, do you hear yourself talk sometimes?" Joyce yelled over him, shutting him up. Lonnie had used those same words on her before, but she wouldn't allow that with Hopper.

He glowered at her, sucking on his teeth instead. "I don't want her spending any more unsupervised time with that little punk."

Joyce shook her head at him. "My house, my rules."

Hopper threw his mask down on the ground at his feet, and it bounced off a few feet away, out of sight for Joyce.

"Well, I don't have a house anymore, remember? And I'm not dead, so stop acting like it! She's still my daughter."

"Well, she's kinda mine too, now," Joyce snapped back.

"At least let me have a say, Joyce. I'm still here, you know. I haven't gone anywhere,” he said, starting to pace.

"So, you think we're just going to tag-team parenting? With you in some alternate dimension god knows where? This isn't going to work!"

"What isn't going to work?"

"This. Us! What are we even doing, Hop?" Joyce cried, her words shooting hot off her tongue, fanning the flames of her fears. "We don't make good partners at all. Even in life or death circumstances, we're constantly at each other's throats. What does that say about us?"

Hopper took a deep breath, trying to calm down, taking in her words before he answered. "It says that we make good sparring partners… among other things."

"No, I don't think it does," Joyce said, smartly. "We're good at some things, but not where it counts, like actually communicating. You know what— I went to the Mall today," she added, changing the subject and looking pointedly at him. She might've gone against his wishes, but Joyce was standing her ground. He needed to hear it, even if he didn't like it. “And they were hauling cement down into those tunnels."

"So?" He shrugged, completely dense.

Lights flashed in the distance, a car slowed down and turned down the road towards them. Joyce grabbed Hopper and ducked around the side of the trailer to stay hidden. The last thing they wanted was some good samaritan stopping while they had a cross-dimensional argument.

"So? Owens swore to me that the gate was closed after I turned the keys, but I saw it... It wasn't closed all the way. And now they're doing the exact same thing they did at the lab."

"Encasing it in cement," he murmured, finally cluing in.

Joyce set her jaw. "So, because you wanted us to wait and see, our one real chance of getting you back through in the same way you left is now off the table. Congratulations. You're little bout of heroism just cost us one more chance."

Hopper's face fell as her words sunk in.

"Mom? Is that you?" Jonathan called out from the end of the driveway, interrupting them. "Who are you talking to?"

"Great," Joyce sighed. "Now, my kids are going to think I've gone crazy coming out here."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure they've thought that for a while," Hopper said sarcastically.

"Don't start, "Joyce hissed under her breath at Hopper. "Just stay here, I'll talk to him."

"You know what? I think I'm gonna head out. Maybe I'll find a gate, and someone who will let me do what I need to do, without nagging me all the damn time!" He growled and waving her off his back, turned to leave.

"Good! Go!" She shouted in a burst of anger, regretting it immediately. But it was too late. Right in front of her, he vanished into thin air.

"Mom?" Jonathan called out across the yard as he approached the treeline, Will and El not far behind.

Joyce's head snapped up to look at her son as he ran up to ahead of the others.

"You okay?" Her eldest asked, wrapping his coat around her.

Will asked, "What are you doing out here?" While El added, "We were worried…"

"I'm fine." She hugged her youngest as she spoke. "I didn't mean to scare you guys… I just needed to get out of the house. Clear my head."

"And you came to Hopper's old place?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah." She shook her head as he guided her back to the car. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Joyce was putting on an act to show her kids that she was still all there, even if they had just watched her have a full-blown argument by herself in the woods.

Thankfully she didn't have to explain. Jonathan squeezed her shoulder, understanding even if he didn't want to. "You miss him."

"You don't know the half of it," Joyce said.

"You okay, mom?" Will asked when Jonathan opened the car door for her.

"I'm fine, sweetie. It's just been a tough few days… I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was. I won't do it again." Joyce smiled shakily and embraced her not so little boy, and then finally turned to El, praying the girl wouldn't be able to read her mind. How would she even begin to explain what was happening to her father? A streak of red stained El's face, and Joyce's mom instincts took over.

"El, oh sweetie, your nose! Does it hurt?" Joyce asked, reaching in her pockets for a tissue, holding it to the girl’s face. She cupped the back of El’s head before gently tipping it forward.

El shook her head in Joyce’s hands.

Joyce leaned down and raised an inquisitive brow at her. "Did you try to use your... You know?” _Powers_.

She shook her head again, looking distressed. "No."

Joyce believed her, only for the fact that her usually brave El seemed as scared as the night they had met. El's eyes were focused on a spot in the woods just over Joyce's shoulder, exactly where Hopper had stormed off. Joyce followed her gaze to see what she was looking at, but nothing was there.

“C’mon, let's get out of here," Joyce rubbed El's back and got her settled in the back seat.

On the drive home, once she made sure El was comfortable, Joyce got lost in her thoughts and stared out the backseat window, feeling numb as Hawkins passed them by. All the things she said were running through her mind and it made her sick with guilt. Hopper was out there somewhere, trapped in that awful place through the looking glass and time was running out.


	13. Chapter 13

Hopper was too angry to stick around and mope after Joyce left the property. Their argument only served to light a fire under his ass, and not in the way she had hoped. If she wanted him to go out right now and find a gate, then that’s what he’d do, but he wouldn’t be happy about it. Not one bit.

Hopper kicked some vines as he walked and mumbled to himself under his breath. Was it too much to ask for a little comfort from her, while he was trapped in this godforsaken place, suffering his own personal armageddon? After everything they’d been through, after almost losing each other for good, he thought — perhaps a bit naively — that Joyce would have been more open to exploring their relationship and it had seemed that way at first, but she was all over the place now. Hopper was never very good at deciphering mixed signals so he couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around why it was such a big deal to her -- it’s not like he hadn't been stuck here before.

He always had trouble understanding Joyce’s point of view though, and that was part of the problem. Her brain was so riddled with anxiety, sometimes there was no talking her down from the ledge she built up for herself. He’d seen similar reactions in his war buddies when they got worked up, too; the trauma they had suffered wrecked their ability to process stress, compounding until it broke them all over again. Of course, no one had suffered quite like Joyce Byers and he knew it was a lot to ask of her, but all she had to do now was wait a few days more. If she would just let him find Billy and then a gate, he would be home free, and they could finally start anew. 

They were so close to having it all -- the only thing that separated them now was a thin shadow-veil between worlds... and their pride.

Hopper stumbled through the fog and darkness for a few minutes before realizing he had left the mask back at the trailer like an idiot. He didn’t want to go back just yet to retrieve it, in case she was still there, so he turned the flashlight on his shoulder on instead, revealing his path back into town. That would have to do for now and he would just have to live without the respirator for a few hours while he carried out his task.

He cut through the back woods, down old familiar trails, making a bee-line towards the Hawkins Lab, but when he got there, he saw nothing had changed since he’d been there last. The gate was still sealed off, entombed in cement. No dice.

A half hour later, he was breaking into Hawkins Middle School, looking for another tear between dimensions, another old gate he could sneak through, but that too was sealed off. The school had installed new brick and mural where El told him the other gate was, and it had already reflected back in this world. Shit outta luck.

It was too far to walk back to the Mall or the Starlite, whatever it was now, and he wasn’t even remotely prepared for a trek like that without his mask or supplies anyway. He would wait until he got back to his trailer and outfitted again before taking on that adventure. Joyce would just have to get over it and wait a little while longer.

  


***

Feeling discouraged, he spent the next hour wandering the desolate streets of Hawkins. As he ruminated over the cross words exchanged between him and Joyce, Hopper found himself standing outside another familiar building.

The windows on the restaurant were dark, just like every other building in the abandoned town, but it’s fake Italian facade looked gaudy now in the grey-blue palette of the Upside Down. He wasn’t sure what drew him here, at this very moment, but he wondered if it was through his subconscious or perhaps the Mind Flayer would bless him with a visit to his lonely Friday night dinner date from last week. 

Enzo’s Fine Italian Dining welcomed him in with promises of the largest selection of wine in all of Roane County and Hopper suddenly wanted a drink, or ten — his usual solution to dealing with his problems. Hopper elbowed the glass on the door to the restaurant to let himself in, heading straight for the bar.

_Chianti, Merlot, Sangiovese, Rosé, Chardonnay, Pinot Noir…_ the names rolled off his tongue, heavy and clumsy as he tried to find one worth his while. Something that would still taste halfway decent and get the job done.

Ah, there — the oldest one on the shelf, a nice 40 year old Port, give or take a few hundred (thousand?) years. It would be sweet and very, _very_ potent. And at eighty bucks a pop, it’d better be. He snorted as he scanned the highfalutin menu, then traded it for a wine opener, tossing the menu to the floor.

He pulled off the gloves, letting them hang from the suit, as he struggled with the bottle. A satisfying 'pop' later, he tossed the cork over his shoulder so he could quickly get back to his moping. He took an earthy mouthful of excessively fortified wine, looking forward to comforting numbness it would bring, and then a woody piece of sediment made its way to the back of his throat. He choked for a second, coughing out the wine, spraying it all over Enzo’s bar. 

Hopper wiped at his mouth with a glove, not that it mattered with the mess he made.

“Goddamn!” He spat, looking at the bottle in disgust. It took approximately thirty seconds before he was at it again, this time taking small, cautious gulps instead, spitting out the crud between swallows.

The image that he caught in the mirror behind the door was a sad sight to behold. A week in this place had left its mark. He remembered what Will had looked like when they found him after a week in this place: pale, sunken cheeks, hollow eyes. Of course Hopper had some extra fat to burn through, but he was starting to see a resemblance. Hair askew and the beginnings of a scraggly beard left him with the appearance of a wild thing, lost to the great beyond.

He walked around the dining room of the restaurant for a long while, smoking and drinking and muttering to himself. Trying to figure out how he could apologize to Joyce for getting them in this mess in the first place. The wine bottle was swinging at his side as he moved between tables and made his way to the piano in the corner next to the small stage. Sitting down, he flipped open the cover and set the bottle on top.

Cracking his fingers, he started to play. Four chords, and the only song he ever really learned to play, back when he was still dating Diane and wanted to impress her.

_When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me_

_Speaking words of wisdom, let it be…_

He took a swig of wine and then repeated the chord progression with one hand this time.

_And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me_

_Speaking words of wisdom, let it be…_

He was singing off key and well on his way to a good black-out drunk when lightning flashed in the windows, catching his attention. He stopped what he was doing and waited for the thunder, but no sound came. Nothing but silence in the dark and unholy night. He went back to the ivory keys after a moment, playing chopsticks now.

The front door of Enzo's flew open with a sudden gust of unexpected wind, bringing debris and decaying matter from outside with it. The wine bottle slipped from his hand and smashed at his feet as he frowned at the door. He'd never seen weather like that here before. Or any weather at all for that matter.

Just as he stood up to go close the door, she walked into Enzo's looking like she stepped off the cover of a magazine, making his blood run cold.

"Am I late for our date?" Joyce asked, a playful smile on her blood red lips.

The little indigo blue dress she wore hung off her in all the right places and her hair flowed freely over one shoulder like she was attempting her best Veronica Lake impersonation. The black pumps she wore gave her a _va-va-voom_ that he'd never seen on her before and he was transfixed as she crossed the floor, hips swaying. Hopper barely recognized her and he could only stand there, too stunned to process what he was seeing.

Joyce's dark eyes smouldered as she waited for his response and it wasn't just because of the makeup she was wearing. No, there was something sinister about it.

"You're not her," he muttered.

Hopper didn't have to ask. He just knew. The Mind Flayer had finally decided to come out and play.

"Were you expecting someone else?" She asked, and looked around the empty dining room, bringing a hand to her chest, drawing his eyes there. "Oh Hop, _I thought you loved me_." Not-Joyce pouted her disappointment.

It was mocking him.

"Shut up." Hopper stepped back when she took a step forward. "You're not her," he repeated.

"But I could be, " the doppelganger said softly, getting closer to him, backing him into the corner. "I could be everything she is… and more."

Hopper shook his head, blurring his already inebriated vision. She was so close to him now and he was frozen in place. It looked like Joyce, it sounded like her and it even smelled like her perfume. But it wasn't Joyce.

"I need you, Hopper," she whispered, trailing a finger down his chest, head tilted up so all he had to do was lean down and…

"I need you to be with me. I want you, more than anyone else."

Oh lord, he didn't know if he could stay strong, not with those words coming out of that mouth.

Eyes closed, she whispered to him, "Stay here and join us. It won't hurt. I promise."

Hopper's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Was this how it was going to be? His life for the thirty missing would be an easy trade, if he had no other choice. 

"If I stay, will you give back everyone you've taken from Hawkins?"

"Oh no, " Not-Joyce waved her hand, brushing him off. "Those people are gone, silly. Their earthly bodies were thoroughly destroyed by my pet. They made him big and strong."

"And Billy?"

"Oh, Billy," she closed her eyes, savouring the boy's name in her mouth. "Hmm, he's my other little pet. You don't have to worry about him. I take very good care of all my pets."

"And you want me? To be your pet, too?" Hopper asked, breathless.

She looked up at him, come-hither and nodded. "I'll give you everything you've ever wanted."

Hopper took a good look at the gorgeous woman standing before him. Breathtaking, yes, but not at all what he wanted his Joyce to be. He gave her a small smile and slowly lowered his head until their lips almost touched, finally giving the Mind Flayer what it wanted.

"Get fucked," he whispered into her open, waiting mouth.

Not-Joyce's eyes shot open and she pushed him back into the wall with monstrous strength.

"Well, if that's how you want to play it," she laughed and held him back with one hand while she reached for his belt with the other.

"No," Hopper said with a snarl, grabbing It's wrists. He shoved Not-Joyce, sending her careening back into a table. When he felt a pang of horror at what he had just done, he tried to remind himself it was the Mind Flayer dressed up in sheep’s clothing. "I'm not playing with you, " he told her.

“You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?” she rolled her eyes, in the usual Joyce way.

“For you? Yeah, I’m gonna make this as difficult as possible.”

It lunged at him and her fist connected to his jaw, sending him flying back through the swinging kitchen door with unbelievable power. Hopper landed on his back on the tile floor of the restaurant kitchen, wincing from the pain. He was getting too old to be trading fisticuffs with demon-spawn, even if it did come in a pretty little 5-foot-nothing package.

She jumped on him, straddling Hopper before he could get up. He struggled as she started to wrap her hands around his throat, squeezing easily, cutting off his airway like a snake about to devour its prey. It’s eyes flashed black and Hopper used all his strength to grab her wrists and break the grasp she had on him. When she tried to reach for him again, he shoved her backward, and then kicked her in the chest. Not-Joyce crashed into the dishes, sending shards of porcelain flying everywhere.

“Fuck you, you evil son-of-a-bitch!” Hopper spat, getting to his feet. “You thought you could come around, convince me to join your side, because you dressed up like her? You have no idea what she’s even like, so this little get-up is pretty unconvincing if you ask me.”

Not-Joyce's face twisted into a disgusted scowl and for a moment Hopper thought that might be it for him. _So long, folks. This is the end._

"Fine," she said after a terse moment, and sighed, looking bored now. “You’re no fun.”

Hopper let out a slow exhale.

"If you want to leave so bad, by all means... Go." 

Not-Joyce flicked her wrist and off in the corner of the opposite wall, a gate ripped through the wall. Underneath, it glowed with a fiery orange like embers that pulled him in towards it.

He hesitated.

"That's what you wanted right?" She asked, hands on her hips.

Hopper looked back at her. "Just like that huh? You're just gonna let me go?"

Not-Joyce gave him the same look his Joyce always gave him when he said something stupid.

"Yeah."

"No strings attached?"

"No strings attached." She flashed her teeth.

Hopper nodded slowly. He looked to the gate, with it's light beyond the oozing membrane pulsing like a beacon, guiding him home and he remembered what the real Joyce had said to him in bed the night before.

Hopper took a deep breath and turned back to the Mind Flayer.

"Well, I'd say so long and thanks, but I don't really like you all that much."

“Hm, the feeling's mutual." It sneered using Joyce's face and observed him as he crossed the room without another second thought. If he had looked back, he would have seen it's insidious smile.

But Jim Hopper didn't look back.

He opened the gate wide and stepped through to the other side.


	14. Chapter 14

The day after their fight in the woods, Joyce couldn't stop thinking about what happened. Even with his life on the line, they still couldn't seem to agree on anything.

She spent that day coming up with a proper apology, one that held both of them accountable so they could stop slinging mud and divvy up the blame for once in their lives. She knew deep down she was right, it was ridiculous for him to stay in that place any longer than he needed to. But she couldn't be too upset with Hopper for staying true to his character either, and she could admit that he wasn't exactly in the wrong for wanting to save the Hargrove boy… but damn it, now was not the time for heroics (again.) He needed to come home first so they could regroup and send in a rescue mission if it turned out Billy or the rest of those missing people weren't a complete lost cause. Joyce had mapped out a potential plan for them by 4pm that day and spent the evening practicing how she would approach him with it to prevent another argument. 

But Hopper didn't come back that night to kiss and make up.

By half past midnight, she snuck out of the house and drove to his trailer in the dark, hoping to find him there in the dark, in a piss-poor mood, so she could they could say their sorry's and move on.

But he wasn't there either.

Joyce curled up on the bare mattress in his room and waited in the twilight until the sun rose before she gave up and went home, a sense of dread enveloping her. Something wasn't right.

***

The second night passed without word from Hopper, and it didn't take long before Joyce was back to being a wreck.

She knew deep down that this wasn't a big blow out fight. They had their fair share of those over the years, and this argument didn't even nearly come close to being relationship-changing. There was no way anything they said to each other was enough for him to ignore her for two days straight.

His funeral was less than 48 hours away now, and she could only think about how he had told her to keep up the appearance he was still gone, while he was stuck over there. So when the funeral home called to confirm arrangements, Joyce did so with a heavy heart, unable to keep it together any longer. There was something so final about a funeral, but even through a hazy melancholic fog, she reminded herself that she buried her son once too, and he still came back to her.

***

Hop's funeral took place on a Saturday, and it stormed the whole time — the first overcast and rainy day in weeks. It was perfectly fitting to match Joyce's mood. As she got El ready and dried the girl's tears, Joyce steadied herself, preparing for another one of the hardest days she would ever have to endure.

Joyce advised the distraught El not to speak to anyone at her father's funeral, except those that she already knew: the boys, Jonathan and Nancy, and maybe Mrs. Wheeler if she felt comfortable enough. She also warned that there would be many prying eyes there and to keep her head down, don't answer any questions from anyone she didn't know. If anyone did ask her relation to Police Chief Jim Hopper, Joyce told El to say she was a family friend, with the Byers. And if anyone started asking too many questions, she was to walk away and find Joyce immediately. Joyce also showed her a picture of Hopper’s ex wife and told her to avoid her if she could — they couldn’t afford Diane asking too many questions right now either.

"He's not coming back, is he?" El asked that morning, with red eyes and a stuffy nose from crying, as Joyce fitted her in an old, demure black dress she had hidden away in the closet. Her words were stilted, and Joyce could tell when their eyes met in the mirror, El knew more than she was letting on.

Joyce looked away when she answered.

"I don't think so, sweetie."

***

By August, Joyce had started to wonder if it had ever really happened at all.

The few short days she had with him were so far gone; they were beginning to feel like a dream, and Joyce was now questioning whether or not she could rely on her memories. Maybe it was a delusion brought on by grief, compounded by more grief? Not very many people in this world could've been dealt the blows Joyce had taken over the last two years and still come out sane, that was a fact.

Every night that summer, she would stay up late, still waiting for Hopper to magically show up. Listening for every bump in the night, looking for him in the lights reflecting off the windows, hoping he would try to contact her again. Even if the days she spent with Hopper were all in her head, it still seemed very real to her, and that's what scared her most. She was haunted by him, everywhere she looked, and she realized that her life would never be the same again.

After the fire at the Mall, the town wasn't the same either. Thirty people were still considered missing, presumed dead, and relentless reporters were hounding anyone who would stop to talk, looking to get that perfect soundbite for the national news. The media had twisted the town's once-sleepy reputation into something obscene.

"Welcome to Hell," one newspaper had said. "Satanic cults to blame for Starcourt Fire?" read another.

Joyce knew one day the headlines would change, the world would move on and Hawkins would be forgotten once more; a back page news blurb, next to the classifieds on the anniversary of the tragic fire at Starcourt Mall. Until then, there wasn't much she could do. Hawkins was infamous now, and there was no going back to the way things used to be. The majority of Hawkins had lost a loved one in the tragedy and now they were unemployed and upset, looking to get out of dodge as fast as possible. 

Joyce didn't blame them. The town of Hawkins, Indiana, was taking its last breath.

When she heard that enrollment at the school was down half of what it was the year before, Joyce became acutely aware that it was now or never — she had to do what was best for her family and get out while they still could. Besides, her house was just an awful reminder of everything that had happened. She couldn't escape the guilt between those four walls — guilt that she hadn't done enough to save Hopper, before or after she had turned the key. Guilt that she wasn't doing enough to take care of El now by staying frozen in place.

Some would say it was an irrational decision to pull her sons out of school with less than a week to go — when Will was starting high school, and Jonathan was getting ready to finish it — but Joyce didn't really have a choice. El would be easy at least, Joyce felt confident that homeschooling the girl would be perfectly fine for the next year, and they could try enrolling her the following year, once they had found somewhere to settle.

The night before the first day of school, she sat the family down and told them of her decision. The house would be on the market by the morning, and the first low-ball offer Joyce got, she'd accept. Even though Will cried and Jonathan's yelling sounded way too much like Lonnie's for her liking, Joyce told them it was non-negotiable. After Will ran to his room and slammed the door, and Jonathan drove off to go see Nancy, El sat at the kitchen table with Joyce, holding her hand while she cried. El even brought her tissues, and made them tea, telling her foster mother in a self-assured way, "Everything will be okay," and Joyce was just thankful she still had El in her corner.

***

In September, Dr. Sam Owens showed up on her doorstep unexpectedly one blustery fall morning, a duo of important government looking officials by his side. He had Joyce sign even more paperwork before he handed her a certified check, the amount carrying more zeros than Joyce had ever dreamed of.

Owens assured Joyce that it would be more than enough to help take care of the girl. He also brought a document with him that Joyce wasn’t expecting: a birth certificate for one Jane Hopper, stating Joyce Byers was now her legal guardian.

“This should hopefully help, in case anyone starts asking too many questions,” he had told her. “Keep it safe. I don’t know if I’ll be able to help you any more after this.”

She tried her best to review all the documents thoroughly, but it there was so much and Owens was waiting on her to sign, so she prayed she was doing the right thing by accepting the money. At least she didn’t have to worry about how she would make ends meet until they were well settled in their new home, wherever that may be.

When she cashed the check later that afternoon, Joyce felt a small sense of peace, taking her first step towards a normal life for her and her children.

***

Murray Bauman was the last person Joyce expected to see that October morning, the day of the move.

She stopped what she was doing, loading up the UHaul, to watch him get out of his beat-up old car looking sheepish and sorry. And after three months of silence from him — _he should be,_ Joyce thought. Now was the time he finally showed up to help? What the hell was Murray going to do, help her pack boxes? The annoyance that bubbled up in Joyce was palpable, and she contemplated what exactly she would say to him as he approached.

"I wasn't expecting to see you again… or ever," Joyce said, narrowing her eyes on Murray as he took in the sight of the massive moving truck backed up the porch.

"I uh, just got back in the country and listened to your message," he said, running a hand over his unusually sweaty forehead. "I came here as soon as I heard, Joyce."

Joyce's eyes went wide, and she looked behind her to see the kids in the living room stacking boxes ready to be put in the truck. She shook her head violently at Murray, silently telling him to shut up and motioned for him to follow her where they couldn't be heard.

"Where the hell were you?" she hissed under her breath, moving to rearrange some boxes she had saved for the trunk of her car — Hopper's belongings, neatly packed up in fresh cardboard, taped and labeled something generic, so she didn't have to think about it.

"I'm really, really sorry, Joyce." Murray bent down to help her and looked her in the eyes, his sincerity showing through. "I just had to get the hell away from this place for a bit. I went to Europe and then maybe… wandered over to Russia."

Joyce looked at him like he had sprouted two heads.

"I wanted to see if I could track down Alexei's family and explain what happened, or maybe just find a sense of peace out there. That whole thing really fucked me up."

"Must've been nice." She sniffed, jaw set as she hoisted a stack of boxes in her arms, and waved Murray off.

"Again, I am really sorry I didn't get your message until just now."

"It's fine," she said morosely. "Doesn't matter much now anyway."

Murray sighed and followed her out to the car.

"Look, Joyce. I realize no amount of apologizing is going to change the fact that I wasn't here when you needed me. But I am here now. So, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"It doesn't matter," she repeated. "He's gone, Murray."

"But he was here?" Murray asked, confused now.

"I — He was." Joyce stammered. "But then he went away again. I don't know, Murray." Her voice was quiet as she reached the Pinto and rested the boxes on the bumper.

"What don't you know?"

Joyce looked down and refused to meet his gaze.

"I don't know if it was real. If Hopper was real." Joyce went pale as she spoke.

Murray frowned and stepped forward, lowering his voice. "Tell me what happened, Joyce. Please. Even if you think it wasn't real."

She sighed.

"After the Mall, he was gone for about five days, and then he just… showed up. Said he was trapped in that weird place, where we found Will… He called me on the phone, from inside the house. And then we just started talking. He could only contact me at night, though, like the connection was better then, or something.

"Then on the second night… the connection was stronger and I could see him, like really… he was a — a hologram or something, weird like that, you know?"

Murray nodded, having a vague idea of what she meant. Joyce was thankful he was still listening and not immediately jumping to the rational conclusion.

"Anyway, he didn't want me asking for help from anyone. Not Owens, or you… or her." Joyce looked back to where El was standing on the porch with Will. "He was going out during the day… scouting for gates, gathering supplies, until we could… see each other again. At night. He thought someone else might have been trapped over there with him, the Hargrove boy, the one they said died in the fire."

Murray nodded, taking all of this in. "And did Jim find any gates?"

"No, not that he told me, anyway…" Joyce spoke slowly, contemplating the words as they left her mouth.

Murray broke her thoughts.

"And the last time you saw him?"

Joyce shook her head as the memory came rushing back.

"It was late July, out in the back, behind his trailer over by Pidgeon Pond? We… fought," she said, not wanting to offer much more than that.

"Well, what happened?" he prompted.

"I don't know, we just fought, okay? I don't even remember… He showed up a week after the fire and hung around for a few days, like three months ago. I don't even know if any of it was real… Murray, I don't—" Joyce choked on a sob that had crept up out of nowhere. She was too weary for any of this and starting to feel overwhelmed again. The kids were running behind, and there were still so many boxes to load into the truck.

Murray reached out to help offload the ones in her arms, but she pulled away from him.

"Are you okay? Joyce?" he asked cautiously, knowing the answer but asking anyway.

"No, I'm not okay." Joyce slammed the boxes in her arms on the ground at the tailgate of her car. "I'm not okay— I'm angry, Murray!" Her voice shook, bubbling at the brim with emotions she couldn't even name. "I'm fucking angry that this happened to her and to me. That he left us. And that makes me feel guilty that it was him and not me and… and thinking that way makes me upset and even more angry, because he's the one I run to when I feel this way, and now he's not even here. That thing took him away from us!"

Joyce took a breath, trying not to get worked up when she noticed the kids stop what they were doing to look over at her with concern. She turned her body so they couldn't see her face as she spoke.

"When we went into that Russian base that night, I was so sure we would be alright, and we'd all get out alive. How stupid could I be?" she mumbled the last part, turning her head into her shoulder, chastising herself.

Murray spoke to her gently. "You aren't stupid, Joyce. Far from."

"Yeah, well, I feel stupid. For thinking that he could still be here." Joyce sniffled, quiet, and looked away. "I really thought…"

"Maybe he was?" Murray offered. "Maybe he just found another gate?"

"Or maybe I'm finally starting to lose it. I mean, I have no real proof it wasn't all just in my head, right? Some weird manifestation of grief… Really weird…." Joyce took a centering breath. "It's too much, Murray. I can't take much more of this," she stuck her finger in the air and twirled it. "Which is why I need to get us the hell out of this place. For myself and for them. Not to mention, I have her to worry about now too," she nodded to El on the porch stacking boxes in the boy's arms. "If she ever gets her powers back, we're like sitting fucking ducks! We can't stay here anymore. I have to get her out of this place."

Her mind was already made up, and she had a lot of time alone to think about it, that was clear. Murray knew he was partially responsible for that, and he hesitated before he spoke again.

"I've been doing some research since I got your message. There is a chance. The place he's trapped in, what did you guys call it? The Upside-Down? Whatever it is, it's unstable as fuck. I hacked into the HNL offsite servers, looking at their monitors they have down there. Weird anomalies have been showing up all over the place. I've seen multiple corresponding reports on some of my underground forums online, and they all add up." He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket to show her his evidence, but she didn't bother to look.

"Online forms?" Joyce asked, the patience in her voice wearing thin. She dropped another box in the back of the Pinto with a thud, shuffling them around to fit.

"The internet, Joyce. People like me are tracking these portals or gates opening up around the world that leads to a mirror image world, quote: 'in a radioactive wasteland' end-quote." Murray raised his bushy black eyebrows at her. "Sound familiar? I think there's a pattern to where these gates are opening and when. What if he is trapped there? Maybe we can guide him to the next one to open around Hawkins?"

"He's _not_ there," Joyce snapped, shoving a box and turning on him. "He's not trapped, and he never was, okay? I don't know what I was thinking when I called you. Maybe I was out of my mind and imagined the whole thing! Wouldn't be the first time…" her voice trailed off, her eyes falling to the side before she looked back at him. "It was a mistake, and I'm really sorry for wasting your time."

Murray shook his head and tried to catch her eye. "What if I told you, I don't think you imagined it?"

Her face twisted at the thought, and for a split second, she considered it before turning away, ready to leave.

"Look, all I know is I can't think about this anymore, Murray," Joyce held up a hand to stop him, pleading, the tremble in her bottom lip telling him how gravely serious this was. "I just… I can't."

Murray looked at her for a long moment — a confused look on his face. Then he nodded slowly, sadly.

"Okay," he backed off. "I think I understand."

"Thank you."

After a long silent moment, he asked: "Where are you going?"

"Far away from here." Joyce slammed the trunk, hammering her words home for him.

Murray hesitated, knowing he was walking a thin line.

"What if… what if I find him?"

"Honestly, Murray, I don't think you will," Joyce shrugged as if it was that simple. "He's gone."

She wasn't accepting any other scenario anymore, and that was all she was going to say about it. Joyce started walking back to the house without saying goodbye. It was just easier that way.

"What if I need to get a hold of you? Joyce!" Murray called after her.

She paused and said over her shoulder, "Don't."

She heard Murray's final words as she closed the front door behind her.

"You know the number if you change your mind!"

* * *

Her last look around hurt more than words could say.

Seventeen years of her life had been spent in that house.

She remembered the day she and Lonnie moved in, still in love (or what she thought was love), and six months pregnant with Jonathan. Happy memories of setting up the nursery and nesting over that first week, building on all her hopes and dreams for the future.

All the moments, those same hopes and dreams were dashed over the years. The fights and screaming matches with Lonnie. His and her matching lies, affairs and then finally, divorce.

All the tears she cried and the paralyzing fear when Will went missing. The joy and worry she felt getting him back home safe, thanks to Jim Hopper.

All the undeniable feelings she had for a long lost friend, built back up over quiet nights sitting across at the kitchen table, just talking, reminiscing. Those same convoluted feelings pushed aside when Bob came along and the distance that started to grow between her and Hopper when Bob died a short few months later.

All the misery of the last few years.

All the insanity of the last three months.

The house held every single one of those things for Joyce. She had removed all of her earthly possessions, and all that remained were haunting memories that wouldn't let her go.

But she was desperate now to move on, find some semblance of an ordinary world for her and the kids, and this was the only way forward.

Joyce let out a pensive breath, and closed the door, leaving everything behind.


	15. (Epilogue)

_"Hi, you have reached the residence of Murray Bauman._

_“Mom, if this is you, please hang up and call me between the hours of 5 and 6pm as previously discussed, okay?_

_“If this is Joyce…_

_“Joyce, thank you for calling, I have been trying to reach you. I have an update. It's about, well, it's probably best if we speak in person. It's not good or bad, but it's_ **something** _."_

***

When he regained consciousness and the ringing in his ears subsided, he opened his eyes to a fuzzy brown ceiling and a face he really didn’t want to see right then and there.

"No, no, I told her we'd meet her there. Oh hey, I think he's coming 'round." Callahan was shouting -- no -- speaking softly to him over the bench of the truck. "Hey, feeling better there, pal?"

"Damn, you sure know how to tie on one boss." Another voice came in over static.

"Callahan? Powell?" Hopper mumbled, somewhat aware that he was laying in the backseat of his Blazer while Callahan drove.

"Is he okay?" Powell asked over the radio.

"Yeeeah, I don't know yet. I think he might have a concussion. Did you hit your head, Chief? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three, you idiot.“ Hopper mumbled before he leaned over the seat and puked.

"Oh damn, that's gonna need a detail. Glad it’s your truck and not mine.“ Callahan chuckled to himself as the Blazer came to a stop. "Look, boss, you're home."

The two storey house with the nicely kept yard and a porch swing was completely unfamiliar to Hopper and he stared out the window at it confused, wiping bile off his lips with the back of his hand when he realized… his beard was gone — he was clean shaven. He glanced down to see he was wearing his standard uniform and then he looked back at Callahan still feeling sick.

Last thing he remembered was… oh, yeah trapped in the Upside Down, the Mind-Flayer-Joyce and her offer to join the dark side.

"What's going on?" Hopper asked, words tumbling out of his mouth like molasses as he tried to process what was happening.

"We, uh found you in the alley, behind the new Italian place this morning, " Callahan explained as they watched Powell pull up in the cruiser behind them. "You seem a little, uh… well you seem wasted, so we called your wife at work and she's meeting us here. It was Powell's idea! Please don't be mad."

"Wife?" Hopper brought a hand to his throbbing head. "You called Diane?" 

Hopper didn't feel that drunk, but he was having trouble understanding what the hell was going on.

"Gee. Thanks for throwing me under the bus, Phil. I'm gonna remember that." Powell said opening the back of the truck to help Hopper out.

"Wait, back up." Hopper sat up. "Where are we?"

"Uhh we're at your house, " Callahan said to Hopper with an odd look, then turned to Powell. "Told ya, we shoulda took him to the hospital."

"He doesn't need anyone else knowing about this, Phil. Come on Chief, let's get you inside."

"Wait, no. This isn't my house, " Hopper said, stumbling up the walkway as the two men flanked him.

"Shit, " Powell grumbled. "Don't make this difficult, man. I know it's been a tough couple of weeks but you gotta try to keep it together."

"Look, Cal, I don't know what the hell you're talking about…" Hopper started to explain, just as another car pulled up into the driveway — a green Chevy station wagon with faux wood panels. It squealed to a stop in front of the house and the driver’s side door flew open.

“Oh good, the Missus can take it from here,” Callahan said and waved at the woman with the long dark hair who was hustling across the front lawn to them, wide-eyed and looking annoyed.

“Thank you, guys. Let's bring him inside before the neighbors see… Oh for fuck's sake, Hop,” she said as his legs gave out.

The last thing Hopper saw was Joyce standing over him like a holy portrait backlit by the sun as the world turned black around him.

*** 

  


_Time past and time future_

_What might have been and what has been_

_Point to one end, which is always present._

_— T.S. Eliot  
_


End file.
